


Me, Daredevil & The Serial Killer

by RedMoon616



Series: Matt & Mackenzie's Most Memorable Moments [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crime Scenes, Dark, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Interrogation, Investigations, Kidnapping, Killing, Minor Character Death, Post-Season/Series 01, Serial Killers, Torture, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedMoon616/pseuds/RedMoon616
Summary: There's an elusive psychopathic serial killer on the loose in Hell's Kitchen, one that neither the police nor Daredevil are able to catch before it continues to add victims to his list. But what will happen when Mackenzie has a seemingly accidental run-in with the highly sought after criminal? Will she live to tell the tale or will Murdock arrive too late to save his girlfriend?Seventh part of a series of short stories contemplating the sometimes usual, but mostly unusual, life of Matt & Mackenzie. A continuation (kinda) of Daring the Devil.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Matt & Mackenzie's Most Memorable Moments [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607302
Kudos: 2





	Me, Daredevil & The Serial Killer

**Author's Note:**

> This is the seventh part of a series that focuses on the everyday life of Murdock and his girlfriend Mackenzie, and how has their relationship evolved after the events of Daring the Devil (which I recommend you check out first if you haven't, to have some context and back story). Hope you enjoy!

Let me tell you something, dear friend of mine, getting tortured for _real_ ain’t no fun at all. It’s one thing to get the shit kicked out of you by a bunch of asshole thugs looking for information about Daredevil; it’s another thing entirely to be actually tortured for pleasure while being asked pointless questions that only mean to hurt me emotionally and keep on par with the physical pain. And I know **now** that I’m way too in over my head, despite previously being aware that this wouldn’t be a piece of cake. I knew well enough that coming after a fucking _serial killer_ would be serious business, but I never entertained the possibility of this happening.

Sure, I’d taken into account the chance of fucking up so bad that I would end up murdered –and if things went particularly awry, that I could be just another victim in his long list–, but I expected to be better than this at this point. I have proven myself time and time again, of being capable enough to do this godforsaken job. Then again, how could I’ve ever foreseen the motherfucker abducting me in an alley on broad daylight? Just how the fuck did he even know **who** I am, anyway? I’m sorry, you are probably confused as hell. Let me rewind a little bit and get you up to speed.

* * *

Everything is a fucking mess right now. The “honeymoon phase” of my official initiation into the world of vigilantism came to an abrupt end the day the first victim appeared splattered all over every single newspaper’s front page. A bunch of sensationalist assholes, in my humble opinion. The scene was bloody as heck, and the poor woman who was raped, tortured, and murdered in cold blood was nothing but a maimed corpse left to rot on the streets. Whoever did that is gonna fucking pay for it.

The worst part for me –aside from the maddening frustration, anger, and sadness that the crimes itself incite– was the morning of the first crime, reading the paper and then having to explain to Matt what was on the crisp pages. He was so infuriated that he stayed silent for the best part of the day, only talking when strictly necessary. That didn’t change much with the appearance of the subsequent victims; no, it only got worse. The silence gave way to the tight-balled fists, the tense jaw, and ultimately the search through every last part of Hell’s Kitchen for the piece of shit responsible. So far, we have come up empty-handed. And the seething rage continues thus far.

It’s been going on for weeks now, and every new murder is more disturbing than the last one (is no understatement to admit that the news regarding them are getting harder to digest). A victim per week so far, mostly women and a couple of men. All between late teens to early thirties, middle to lower class Caucasians. No discernable pattern when it comes to physical characteristics that the murderer looks for in them. They all have different hair and eye color, as well as general style in clothing and haircuts. This of course doesn’t help the police in narrowing down their search. Neither does for us.

Despite the different media outlets speculating about who could be the culprit (even going as far as theorizing that it could be a white male in his mid-thirties, from a lower to middle class economic background, probably with a criminal record), there isn’t an official profile yet, not even a possible proposed by the cops. Still, given the sexual and horrific notion of the crimes, I wouldn’t be surprised if the news turns out to be right about this one after all. Most of the victims so far _are_ women, and a couple of unfortunate young men were not only confirmed to have been gay –which might be a significant detail– and rather “feminine” looking, going from pictures of them before the murders. They had to use those because the two male victims were even more grotesquely disfigured than the women.

So, Matt and I have been basically going insane trying and failing to catch this motherfucker to stop him before he keeps unleashing carnage onto the city’s population. There’s no concise and discernible hunting ground that we can pinpoint. Whoever is doing this seems to be picking his victims all over the city, although at least two of the six victims that have appeared until now are from Hell’s Kitchen, so we are naturally concerned about all of this. Honest to Satan, this has been the longest and most detrimental month and a half of my entire life, and you and I both know I have been through a _lot_.

What frustrates us the most is that the cops are as clueless as us. There’s no evidence left behind in any of the bodies, so this is basically a blind search. I mean, not even Murdock with his enhanced senses has been able to pick up anything of importance. It’s truly driving him crazy, the inability to even get a piece of something that points us in any direction, at least so we can start somewhere. No, there’s just hoping for the best (which would be the person stopping altogether for whatever reason) or for the reasonable (which would be the killer slipping up and leaving something behind). I mean, there’s no crime scenes whatsoever, just mutilated bodies popping up all over the city in random places. I’ve never felt this aggravated when it came to a previous case/operation/mission until now, not even when I was working undercover, and that shit was stressful as _fuck_.

Like, it comes to the point where Mahoney is actively working with Daredevil as much as he can, in the hope of stopping this frickin psychopath from killing another innocent human being. They trade whatever new information each manages to gather since the last meeting they had, but it’s never good enough. It’s been like this for at least three weeks after the first Kitchen’s victim was found. The detective agreed to cooperate with Matt since he’s as desperate and afraid as we are, wanting to catch the monster sooner than later, wanting to save as many innocent people as possible.

And of course, Matt jumped at the opportunity to get intel straight from the police, wanting to achieve the same goal as them. He would usually try to take more than he gives, wanting to catch the criminals himself to “teach them a lesson” (meaning kicking the shit out of them) before handing them to the authorities. But now, he just wants this nightmare to be over. As surprising as it might seem, at least Hell’s Kitchen hasn’t seen a killer like this in a long time, even before Daredevil joined the party.

And I guess I don’t even need to explain how fucking **hard** I had to push Murdock so he would let me help with the search and investigation. He was so fucking scared in the beginning, fearing that I would join the growing list of victims whenever he wasn’t looking. He’s still terrified, don’t get me wrong, I just managed to wear him down enough to allow a certain amount of participation. Still, I’m not supposed to do any research outside on my own, only inside the apartment.

It’s been so fucking draining that we have gotten into arguments more than once, because even when I understand his worries ( _especially_ since I’m in the demographic this bastard looks for) I still want to help as much as I can. I’m not seating idly at home while some fucking loony goes around doing atrocities as I have seen in the papers and the case file Mahoney lent to us. I’m fucking done with this shit; I want it to end _**now**_. So, I’m sorry for Matt’s nerves, but I’m not staying away from this one. I mean, even if I get caught by whoever it is, I ain’t going down without a fight.

* * *

I would be lying if I said I know where the hell I am, or even what fucking time it is. I have no idea whether it’s daytime or night, nor do I specifically know how _long_ I have been held here. The fucker that kidnapped me has kept me blindfolded, probably since he got here –wherever “here” is–, and handcuffed, so I can pretty much do nothing for now. Unfortunately, I’m at his complete mercy, which I’m sure he arranged to be that way. And yeah, I have tried multiple times to free myself during the time I’ve been awake (trying to take advantage of the apparent fact that I’m alone in here) to no avail.

The man put legit handcuffs on me, both on my wrists and ankles, and I have nothing to lockpick them with. This is so fucked up, man, I don’t even know what the hell I’m gonna do if I don’t get myself freed somehow. Guess I’ll just end up bleeding all over some scarcely lit backstreet of Hell’s Kitchen one of these days. Hopefully not, at least if either I get myself out of this hellish situation or Matt comes to the rescue, but I don’t want to get my hopes up too much in case everything goes fucking south before any of those scenarios can come to life. Damn my bad luck.

All I can be sure about is that I was on my merry way (who the fuck knows how many hours ago) down the street, going to meet a source of mine for some intel regarding a more official case that Murdock’s working on with Foggy, when all of the sudden my world goes black. I’ll admit I was traversing an alley to cut my walk short, but it was like 2 pm, for fuck’s sake, and there was a clear view of the place from either end of the alleyway. There were no cars as far as I noticed, so how the fuck did he transport my unconscious body from there over here? And despite the small possibility that I might still be just a few feet from said alley, having the killer popped out from a door that leads to the passage and taken me inside one of the houses on the same block, I doubt he would be that stupid.

To stay around the same place where he abducted me from? No, that’s highly unlikely coming from the evil mastermind that this elusive fucker turned out to be. He wouldn’t risk it like that. He either got there inside a car that I failed to notice earlier and dragged me to it, or he _does_ have a place in which he hid me before transporting me to somewhere else once the circumstances were in his favor again. Fuck. I hope I managed to react at the last second and left behind something that might aid Matt in his search –although I can’t be certain since I don’t remember much from before my blackout–.

He must be losing his fucking mind right now, searching through the entire neighborhood for me and praying that I don’t turn up dead. I should have been more careful, I’m aware, but how could I even fathom that the killer would come after _me_? And I don’t give a shit that I fit the demo this guy preys upon, I don’t believe for a second that this is just an unfortunate coincidence. This fucker **must** know who I am or who I’m involved with. Which brings me to a more important question: does he know something about Murdock?

Okay, let’s just slow down for a second and try to organize this fucking mess, alright? Let’s go step by step from what I know of this entire case, the bastard behind it all, and what exactly happened that landed me in this deplorable situation. I really need to clear my head from whatever I was drugged with and try to remember as much as I can from what went down in that empty alleyway; I might get at least a clue from that. Shit, what was I even doing back then?

All I can think about is being on my way to meet my source to get some new information about one of the cases Matt and Foggy are working on. I was running a bit late, I think, and that’s why I decided to go through the alley against my better judgment; that way at least I could cut a few minutes off. In case you are wondering, I still hold some apprehension towards alleys, after being beaten up to an inch of my life in one of them, right before being saved by Daredevil for the first time.

Anyway, something doesn’t sit right with me about it, like there’s something else regarding my reason to take that shortcut that didn’t involve just wanting to save time. No, somehow, I know that that's not the whole picture. But what was it then that prompted me to take that diverging route from my original one? So far, I had been careful about where I chose to walk through when moving around the neighborhood. Like taking crowded streets instead of barely transited ones, as well as going out only during daylight.

Why would I risk going through an empty alleyway then? Yeah, I might have been worried that my contact would get tired of waiting and proceed to leave, but given the “stay safe” lectures that Matt gave me every time I went as far as around the corner of our apartment building, I knew that it was better to be safer than sorry (and boy, did I prove Matt and myself right about that since now I’m more sorry than safe). So _why_ did I really do it?

Is just now that a sliver of memory pops up in my mind, providing me with a clue about what the real reason behind my little detour was. I saw _someone_. And it wasn’t just a random and normal person. Oh no, the weirdo was **looking** at me, from across the street. He gave me the creeps immediately, so I decided to pretend not to notice him and keep him at the corner of my eye just in case he tried to jump me. I was waiting at a stoplight and as soon as I could cross the street, the man started walking ahead of me.

That’s when I had the brilliant idea of “hey, let’s just follow this fucker and see what the hell is his problem”, which of course got me into this mess. Fucking great, Mackenzie; you truly deserve to die, you fucking idiot. Only reason I’m not really willing to accept such fitting punishment for being an unconscious moron is the fact that if I die, I’ll probably kill Murdock by proxy. I don’t think he’ll be able to survive that, no matter how much I would want him to move on with his life and find happiness with someone who’s less of an idiot.

Yeah, fine, okay, I know this ain't helping, I’m sorry. Getting back on topic right now. Where was I? Oh, right, creepy asshole. So, I followed him for a bit, trying to keep as unnoticeable as I could (which, in retrospect, was fucking idiotic and pointless). Thankfully for me –and yes, I’m being sarcastic–, he was going in the same direction I was meant to, although that made me concerned about the man possibly knowing about my meetup. Still, I pushed through those worries and kept my watchful eyes trained on him.

It was until I entered that alley that the idea about being purposefully led somewhere even crossed my mind, but by that time it was already too late to try to back out of the situation I blindly put myself in. It took me until I was standing alone in the middle of the passage to notice that the guy wasn’t visible anywhere in front of me. And before I could turn around and see if he was behind me, appearing after hiding behind a trash bin or something, I saw out of the left side of my periphery an arm shooting out of the blue with a bundled up white rag grasped in the hand that ended up covering my face.

I struggled for a bit, aware of what was happening and trying not to breathe in the fumes of what surely must have been chloroform, but the man held me to his chest –wrapping his right arm around my waist– while I exerted myself by kicking and punching around so I had to ultimately take a breath after thrashing around uselessly. I was out before I could even realize the consequences of my stupid actions. One dumb choice that might land me in an early grave.

I think that I may have realized for a split second there what my gut figured out a few minutes prior to the encounter, that the man I was following and that was leading me to a trap was the very same one I have been obsessing over finding for weeks now. I had finally found the serial killer, but only after he found _me_. Now, I’m doomed to suffer the same gruesome destiny as the rest of the victims at the blood-tainted hands of this lunatic, and there seems to be nothing I can do about that.

* * *

Another morning, another disturbing front-page crime coverage in the paper. I’m gonna be honest with you right now, despite all my pseudo-preachiness about not killing people no matter what horrendous acts they’ve done, I’m starting to second doubt that morality of mine deeply shared with Murdock. This man, whoever the fuck he is, it’s just a straight-up monster. I even dare to say that he’s the worst twisted fucker I have encountered so far, and I have seen a _lot_ , you know that. But this, this “person”, is on a whole different level than the rest of thugs, crooks, and criminals that plague Hell’s Kitchen and as well as the rest of New York City.

No, this isn’t the same, and that’s why I think that he doesn’t deserve the same punishment. To be honest, he doesn’t even deserve due process. Perhaps to be tortured for a while before being killed off (to deliver some kind of karmic justice); but what would be more beneficial to us all, would be to shoot him in the back of the head and be done with it. I think Matt deep down feels the same, but he's not ready or willing to admit it. Fucking bloodlust perverted psychopath needs to be sent to actual Hell.

“I don’t like this guy, Matt. Just reading what the papers say about the crime scenes gives me the chills”, I tell Murdock in a soft voice, worry lacing my tone and furrowing my brows. This morning finds us having breakfast together while the rain outside pitter-patters against the windows and then falls silently onto the streets of the Kitchen. The apartment feels eerily quiet and still at this time of the day and with the surrounding environment. At this hour, most of the inhabitants of the apartment building are either already out or still asleep. Even worse, it seems as if even the sky is in mourning right now, overcast with dark grey clouds and pouring heavy rain.

The seventh victim is from Hell’s Kitchen, bringing the total of people from the neighborhood up to three. Fortunately, this time, at least, the pictures shown in the papers aren’t as explicit as they used to be. Finally, someone knocked some sense into those insensitive assholes. Seriously, otherwise, I might have puked what I just ate, as it happened in the dreadful morning of week number four.

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll catch him sooner than later”, Matt tries to assure me gently, sensing my growing distress, and even catching my subtle hint about where my darkest thoughts have been leading me towards as of lately. I know he’s attempting to come off as comforting, not dismissive at all (really, though, as if he could even _be_ dismissive about something like this), but it still feels hollow and wrong.

I shouldn’t be concerned to the point that it affects me into doing some stupid, rash, and regrettable things, I get it, but I really can’t help it at this point. I just want this to be over; I want people to not only be able to _feel_ safe again, but to actually **be** it as well. And that “sooner than later” seems to be farther away from our grasp as the days pass without gaining any new information or any type of clues. My patience is running thinner by the second.

“I’m not so sure about that, you know”, I confess with a murmur, staring out of the window and observing the rivulets of rain running down the other side of the glass. We are both sitting at the table, opposite from each other, and with me taking the seat closest to the wall, holding each a mug of steaming coffee. Disgusting but necessary. “The man is clearly not dumb; he might even be some kind of twisted genius. He is elusive as fuck. If he truly is a psychopath, we might never find him”.

Despite my knowledge that I should try to maintain a positive view of the resolution of this case, as well as to not let myself wallow in misery and fear, I can’t help but feel completely hopeless. It’s true, it’s been over a month and a half and we are no closer to catching the frickin culprit than we were when this all started. The fucker behind it all is not an idiot; he won’t reveal himself so easily, if even at all.

“We will, we have to”, Matt says more firmly now, letting his uneasiness take a hold of his otherwise calm demeanor. I think he’s trying to reassure me as much as himself. He has court today, that’s why he’s trying to keep it together and relatively succeeding at it –unlike me since I’m just a bundle of nerves and pent-up rage looking for a fucking outlet–. Still, ever the perceptive one, enhanced senses or not– he reaches across the table with his right palm up.

He’s silently inviting me to hold hands, as a means to soothe me a little bit. I accept without doubt, thinking that he might need the emotional support as much as I do, if not even more. His mind is currently running through two different cases at once: the one he has as a lawyer alongside Foggy, and the one he has as Daredevil alongside me. That’s a lot of heavy shit to carry on his shoulders, so I’ll do anything to take as much weight off him as I can.

Actually, thinking this through, I might have to do exactly that in a more literal way than just being there to hold his hand. No, that won’t be enough in the long run, if things keep being the way they are right now. I may have to take a decision he’ll refuse to even consider in the first place. Be it all for the safety and wellbeing of humanity. “And what then, off to jail and we all go on our merry way? Whoever this is...he’s a monster. And not the type you cage either, but the type you _slay_ ”, I explain accusingly, seriously considering that the only way this psycho might be stopped for once and for all would be to straight up kill him.

It’s not the prettiest of ideas to even have residing inside my mind, but something needs to be done about this, about _him_. After all the suffering he caused, he shouldn’t be **allowed** to keep living in this world, not when he deprived all those innocent people of the same birthright. Don’t care what a judge and jury have to say about it, not even what Murdock thinks.

“What are you suggesting then, that we kill him without even a trial?” He asks sharply while wiping his head towards his right side in order to face me. He’s clearly alarmed by my suggestive undertone. and I don’t blame him since I’m concerned as well. I’ve seen, encountered, met, escaped, fought, and worked with a lot of different types of evil bastards over the years –more so since I got involved with Murdock and his particular nightly lifestyle–, but none of them ever invoked such hatred and bloodlust in me.

Except for the piece of shit that killed my mother. I thought that after accidentally killing him, the thought about taking another life would never even cross my mind again. Yet here we are, facing one of those people near the top of the pyramid when it’s about “threats to society”. Still don’t think it wise to just expound my truthful thoughts and feelings to Matthew, otherwise, he’ll definitely pull me from this case.

“I’m just saying, this dude doesn’t give the impression of even having a soul that can be redeemed”, I begin tentatively with as much calm as I can muster, trying to betray nothing as I bring up the notion that not every soul can be salvageable. At least not when it has already been sold to the Devil. And no, of course, I’m not talking about Matt. “I don’t know about you, but I’m prepared to do whatever’s necessary to keep this city’s people safe and sound”. See, the thing about semantics here is that I haven’t explicitly said that I’m planning on killing the unknown killer. I could be just implying that if the opportunity presented himself, I would just let him die instead of saving him so he can be tried and processed accordingly under the watchful eye of the law. If you don’t say it outright, I can always be given another interpretation.

“Look, whoever this is, he’s snatching almost random people all over the city, which means he’s smart and confident”, I point out a little exasperated now, trying to work some logic into Murdock’s thick skull. Just by the freaking smarts this dude is showing it should be obvious that he won’t be easily caught, and maybe even less so to put away for good. We would have to literally catch him with his hands covered in still-fresh blood and a corpse lying at his feet in order to achieve a just sentence. Otherwise, he might get away with it. And if so, what will we do then, just let him run along free? No way.

“Nobody is infallible, Mackenzie, not in this day and age, with the technology the authorities possess”, Matthew argues good-naturally, as always trying to assert that justice will always prevail no matter what and that the system will take care of dealing a fitting punishment. Do we even live on the same planet, Murdock? ‘Cause we both know that the system can be easily corrupted. Wilson Fisk was once a testament to that (and he might still be, who knows for sure?), and it took a fucking _vigilante_ in order to truly bring him to justice...for now, at least. Doesn’t mean it’ll be the same with this new psycho in town. We might be faced with a hard choice to make, and I already have a feeling of which one I would take.

“Maybe not, but if this killer isn’t going only for the vulnerable, the poor, or the homeless, it means that he doesn’t give a fuck if there are families, friends, or partners looking for the victims”, I retort more hotly, a little pissed that Matt won't even try to see beyond his soul-redeeming Catholicism. Like seriously, is as if the fucker wasn't even fucking afraid of getting caught; like he didn’t consider it a possibility. “Fuck, Matt, he doesn’t even hide _them_ ”, I continue, referring to the bodies found across the city.

“He leaves them out on the streets, for everyone to see, and there’s still no incriminating evidence that can point us in the direction of even a defined profile”. And that’s just so fucking frustrating, the fact that we have no clue as to where even begin our search, or who we should be looking for. “We are shooting in the dark here”. It’s scary, so scary to not know, to not be able to even guess. We have nothing on him, despite the plausible conclusion that it’s definitely a man behind the murders.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that we can just give up because it’s difficult”, he begins to tell me with a more purposeful tone of voice, facing me fully this time (mug of coffee long forgotten on the table). “We have to work harder until we find him. Sooner or later he'll screw up and a lead will appear”. I wish I could be as positive and hopeful as he’s at least trying to be right now, but after what I have seen –not just _heard_ , as he did from me, but actually **seen** from the papers and the case files–, I can do it anymore. I don’t think I have the ability left to feel even a speck of compassion for this monster.

“And even if waiting for that to happen means more victims, it’s better to keep working towards eventually stopping him than to throw the towel and let him roam free through the city”. His tone is more guarded now, almost choked, and it’s clear from his pained expression that he hates the idea of letting more innocent people die at the hands of this maniac, but I understand since this whole case has been bloody difficult from the start. Still, I don’t get how he can truly not even think about death being the right sentence, no matter if it doesn’t come straight from the judge.

“I know. I’m just telling you, we are not dealing with a regular psycho here”, I continue in what I’m still sure is a futile effort to make him understand that the system might not work the right way with this asshole unless we have all the necessary proof to put him behind bars for the rest of his life. Damn, my coffee must be cold by now. “And the fact that we haven’t been able to narrow down anything besides the age range of the victims is nerve-wracking”.

We can’t even figure out a recurrent place where he goes to kidnap his victims –nor a specific time frame–, thus neither us nor the police can patrol in hopes of catching anyone suspicious. We truly have nothing to go off from. “There has to be something else that gives us a clue as to where to even begin to search for this maniac”. I’m beyond infuriated stress by now, I’m just reaching my boiling point. Any second now I feel like I might explode.

“I’m sure there is, somewhere, and we’ll continue to look for it until we find it”. It’s just when Matt squeezes my left hand that I remember he was holding it, to begin with. I was so far gone in my rage and anguish that I completely forgot that Murdock had been trying to comfort and anchor me through this entire distressing conversation. “I should get going now, otherwise, Foggy will talk my ear off for arriving late again”, Matt comments in a chirpier tone, attempting to improve my mood before leaving. Unfortunately, that fails and I can’t give more than a grimace despite my best efforts.

In the end, he stands up with both of our neglected mugs in his hands, sets them in the sink to be dealt with by me later, and goes about gathering his things. Before he steps outside the apartment, he comes back and leans down to give me a quick but loving kiss. “Please, be safe, alright?” He asks sweetly and I just nod in reply. I see him walk away while feeling disturbed by my complete disregard of his grounding presence while talking about maybe killing someone. Now I fear what I could possibly ignore while confronted with the real scenario.

* * *

Yeah, I remember that morning crystal clear. He went to court feeling dismayed and preoccupied, perhaps more due to my edging into dangerous territory than because of the gruesome murders still taking place. Whatever it was that filled his mind space that day, he carried it with himself until he came back late that night. Only thing I could think about doing to help him ease his worries –aside from promising to not do anything “stupid”– was to hug him tight and tell him how much I love him. Fuck, how much I wish I could do just that right now. To be able to have his strong arms hugging me back, feeling so safe and secure that I could easily fall asleep snuggled next to him. Shit, I would give anything to at least have the chance to _see_ him one last time…

No, no, I shouldn’t be thinking like that. I really need to stop that hopeless shit that my dumbass mind enjoys indulging in so much as of fucking late. Need to stay positive in these trying times, man. Otherwise, I might be as good as dead already, right? Funny thing about that memory resurfacing all of the sudden is that the day I got kidnapped (when was that anyway, today, yesterday? I don’t even know anymore), I was actually on my way to meet with a source that had some relevant information to give regarding the same case Matt went to court for that morning we had the “I might possibly kill the fucker” talk. Who would have thought? Well, maybe it’s not that surprising, but it does make me wonder what the hell happened with my informant if I never got to meet up with him. Maybe Matt talked with him and got wind of my sudden disappearance. Or perhaps he talked to the guy after finding out I went missing.

It really sucks, ya know? Especially because Matt, Foggy and Karen –and me by extension– have been working on this particular case for a while now, and I was supposed to get them some key intel that could tip the scale in their favor. I hope I can still get that, if I even survive this ordeal… There I go again, assuming I’m about to fucking die. Jesus, why do I have to be such a downer? I might still make it out of this alive if I get myself out of these fucking restrictions, or if Matt is able to find me, which I really doubt– For fuck’s sake! Can you fucking stop already, Mackenzie? Ugh, I hate myself more than never right now. Why can’t I just toughen up this one time? I’ll cry my eyes out once I’m out of here, not before.

It won’t do me any good to keep this depressive train of thought. I’m not gonna die, and even if I do, I’ll face my death like a warrior not like a fucking coward. Not only do I _not_ need or want this unknown fucker to see me off like that, but I don’t need Murdock’s guilty conscience to remind him every day for the rest of his fucking life that I was absolutely terrified up to the last second that leads to my death. No, if I’m going down for good, he deserves to know that I gave my all right to the bitter end. And if I manage to take something outta my killer as well, then that’s for the better. All the more power to me!

It’s decided then, my friend, I’ll withstand as much as I’m capable and I’ll fight back as much as possible. I won’t give in, nor will I give up. I’ll even spit on his fucking face if he gets in range. I’ll refuse to answer any of his questions too, if he asks any, and either keep silent or taunt him. I don’t care about the pain; I can take it. After all, this is not the first time I’ve found myself in this kind of situation. And something tells me that it’ll likely not be the last either. Unless I die, of course; although, there’s still a chance of going to Hell, if what I’m going through now isn’t _**it**_ …

* * *

***Matt’s point of view***

I’ve been going crazy for most of the day. Mackenzie left the office after the lunch break to meet with a source of hers that holds significant information that can be the tipping point we need to win our latest case. But she never ended up meeting with him and she has been missing ever since. I talked to the man earlier today since Mackenzie had given me his number and she wasn’t answering her phone.

He knew nothing of what happened to her, all he could tell me about it is that he showed up at the arranged time and place for the meeting and that she stood him up. I told him that something bad might have happened to her, and he agreed that she isn’t the type to just ditch a commitment like that. He assured me that he would keep an eye and ear out for her, and ask around; that he would contact me if anything came up, but I haven’t heard from him yet.

I was a slow idiot who didn’t realize what was going on until it had been an hour since the supposed time she was going to meet with her source and I still hadn’t heard from her. She promised to text me –as per my request– as soon as she encountered the man, but instead, I received nothing. I obviously tried to call her, but her cell phone was turned off. That’s when the panic began to set in and my mind started to spiral down into the worst possible case scenarios. The fear that she might have been snatched by the serial killer didn’t take long to make itself present.

As I was still in the office at that time, alongside Foggy and Karen, I told them about what was happening and what I feared could be the reason for her absence. At first, they tried to reassure me that whatever had gone down that would make Makenzie not show up to a meeting regarding our case and turn down her phone, had surely nothing to do with the ongoing string of murders.

But soon enough the conversation turned into a heated argument, with both of them ganging up against me and accusing me of being irresponsible for letting Kenzie get so involved in my other life. Then they started theorizing that –as the hardheaded and reckless young woman that she is–, perhaps, she could have accidentally run into the killer and decided to pursue him and to confront him (which, of course, wasn’t helpful _at all_ ), thus getting into a dangerous situation.

Still, I told them that I was aware of my irresponsibility regarding the issue, but I argued that my allowance of her involvement came as a consequence of my attempt to protect her. I assured them that Mackenzie would be doing that kind of thing with or without my blessing and company. I chose the better of two evils, so at least this way I can keep her away from harm's way as much as possible.

Naturally, Foggy still pointed out that my approach to the issue was flawed, proven by Mackenzie’s disappearance and the possibility that she could have fallen victim to the killer. I recognized my mistake but insisted that it was not the time to have that discussion and that we should be trying to find her instead. Thankfully, they left the matter to rest after that and agreed to help me to search for her.

Despite our best efforts, which included countless text messages sent and phone call attempts, and the pointless search through the neighborhood –especially around the area where her meeting with her source was supposed to take place (as well as the path she took to go there), we came up empty-handed every time. That’s when the horrible news hit us. A text message from Mahoney, that I forwarded to Foggy and Karen, letting me know that the eighth victim had appeared and that it was a young woman found in Hell’s Kitchen (meaning that she was probably from around as well). As soon as I learned that, my heart stopped beating altogether for what felt like a full minute. I couldn’t think about anything else besides the possibility of Mackenzie’s lifeless body lying on a pool of her own blood.

Foggy called me while I was putting my suit on –since the message from Brett was sent to the burner phone and meant I was being summoned as Daredevil–. I had just left the office in haste a few minutes ago after Karen had read the text aloud, so I didn’t even stay to talk to them about it. He tried to reassure me that the body they had found wouldn’t belong to Mackenzie.

I appreciate the sentiment, but knowing our usual bad luck, I was already half convinced that it was her who I would find lying on the dark and cold streets of the Kitchen, surrounded by police officers. When I got there, I was trying to mentally prepare myself for it, so that I wouldn’t have a breakdown in front of Mahoney and the rest of the NYPD working the scene.

It came as a huge relief as well as a bigger concern to find out that the new victim was indeed _not_ Mackenzie. On one side, it meant that she could still be alive, but on the other, it didn’t erase the probability of her whereabouts being in close proximity to the murderer. After all, she’s still missing and I have no idea **where** she could be. I have just left the crime scene, alleging that I would try to search for any clues I could find that would lead me back to the killer, like I did when the previous victims were found. I _am_ doing that; the only difference is that I’m looking more actively for my girlfriend than for the psychopath that might or might not have her kidnapped somewhere in this city tonight.

* * *

***Mackenzie’s point of view***

So, we have finally arrived back at the beginning point of this particular chapter of my story. Sorry for the fucked-up timeline recap, the drugs are still making me a little hazy, not having been completely flushed out of my system, and the torture isn’t helping either. I will spare you the gory details, but to make you aware of the immense amount of pain I withstood the last few hours, I’ll give you a little summary of my collected injuries.

The first two I got were a broken nose, which bled all over my mouth and surely stained my hoodie, and busted lips, as far as I could tell after licking them a couple of times –and that simple action stung like hell–. Those were inflicted by the considerable amount of punches that the fucker threw at my face. The area still feels overall puffy and swollen, and I think I’ll end up with at least one black eye, if not two. Also, I’m not sure if I don’t have them already, given how much time has passed since. I can’t check for myself because, you know, all that “blindfolded and cuffed to a chair” thingy that prevents me from doing so.

Then came the bleeding from my left temple, I think; I’m not sure, but part of my forehead and side of my face felt wet for a while and now it’s just dry and gross. The psycho then decided that he was done with inflicting pain with his bare hands and turned over to use some other _utensils_ , which of course were fucking worse. First, he took a hammer and used it to strike me over different parts of my body, littering my skin with bruises.

I don’t think anything broke, thankfully, but I’m not certain either. After that came the blade, which I believe belonged to a small weapon like a butterfly knife or a karambit, some fancy shit like that. Whatever it was, it performed the job as intended with its sharpness cutting all over my body, even over clothes. I don’t know how many cuts there are, I lost count after the first dozen. Either way, at least they aren’t too deep, I think.

Oh, wait, something did break after all: my spirit. Haha, just joking (or maybe going insane), that’s still mostly intact so far. My fingers? Not so much. There are two or three broken by the hammer; can’t say for sure because I can’t distinguish amongst the pain. All I know is that I have at least one broken in each hand, perhaps one more in one of them. From that, he grabbed some pliers and took out three of my fingernails before he grew bored and moved on to something else. That hurt like a fucking bitch; especially since I have never experienced it first hand, only went as far as to watch it being done to someone else.

Next came what I like to call the “what a fucking nightmare” trifecta, which consisted of the asshole taking out the big guns and finally showing his truly sadistic side. First and foremost, he started by electrocuting me with a taser on various spots, and not always above my clothes. Then he got to burning different places of my visible skin with a lighter (although, fortunately, he didn’t burn my face). And finally, he choked me with his bare hands until I lost consciousness.

Now, I’m sure you would like to hear that eventually I woke back up sometime later, all dazed and confused, but I wasn’t so lucky, my dear friend. Oh, if only destiny could have been so merciful. But the nutcase torturing me was definitely not destiny itself. He decided to wake me up by pulling my short hair so hard that it felt as if he was gonna rip out a few strands of it, while simultaneously puncturing repeatedly my left thigh with the tip of the same knife he used before –or at least I thought it was the same, but I’m not sure–. So yeah, in summary, no fun at _**all**_.

And do you wanna know what the _worst_ fucking part of all that was? Because, hell yeah, the excruciating pain sucked balls, but the taunting was by far the most insufferable. You have **no** idea how fucking wild the big revelation turned out to be. Like, seriously, this dude actually fucking KNOWS ME. Which, okay, fair enough, not that big of a stretch given my past line of work as an undercover amateur agent trying to gather information to be able to dismantle some of the city’s most notorious criminal organizations.

But I’m not talking about the bastard just knowing me from that time as a “fellow gangster” or whatever shit those fucktards call each other. No, he _knew_ _ **me**_ , as in the real Mackenzie Jameson, girlfriend of Matt Murdock/Daredevil. HE ACTUALLY KNOWS MATT IS DAREDEVIL, DO YOU GET WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT?!?! We are so fucking screwed right now.

Okay, hold on, just let me explain. This shit is gonna make a whole lotta sense in a sec, buddy. As it turns out, this psycho isn’t just a regular nut job that popped up out of the blue in New York. Oh no, this asshole has a record. And despite bodies showing up all over the city, the bastard’s headquarters are located in the Kitchen, _‘cause he’s from_ _ **here**_. You following me so far? Good. So, man’s been on the wrong side of the law for a while now, and in fact, he has been sort of freelancing for a couple of mobs lately. But the real kicker is that he was actually **working for** some of the same criminal organizations I was in while undercover. Crazy small world, amirite?

But it doesn’t just end there either. If the fact that we at some point worked for the same people isn’t bad enough, well, he revealed that it didn’t go unnoticed by him. Nope, fucker had to _**recognize**_ all these months after. And not only ‘cause he remembered me from that time, but because he saw me _investigating_ him. Yeah, motherfucker has been following and researching me as much as I was doing with him, even more so! Can’t believe I’ve been this fucking oblivious, man. What was I thinking? And yeah, there was no way I could’ve known about this, but still. Makes me feel fucking stupid to be so careless.

Although, that’s not even the worst part about this whole mess. He got a little too interested in the simultaneous takedowns of all those gangs and started digging around for any clues that would shed some light on what actually happened. Yeah, on a surface level it all led back to Daredevil and the police, but since he’s such a _genius_ he thought that there was a piece of the puzzle missing. Yup, that piece was me!

After racking his brain trying to come up with a possible answer, he landed on the theory that someone was helping either the cops of the masked vigilante –or both– from the inside someone connected to all the groups that were torn down. He took his time doing research and talking to people in and outside of jail that were involved with the underground scene (particularly those who were a part of the organizations that suffered the hits) **.** In the end, he connected the dots and came up with me being the mole. Fucking genius psychopath.

Also, since the dipshit used to work for several of the groups I aided disbanding, he was left with no affiliation to any criminal enterprise that could grant him the necessary leeway to carry out his depraved acts of violence. That’s when he started to do it on his own, starting his path as a serial killer and unleashing the full extent of his vileness in the process. That, coupled with the fact that the current string of murders is mainly just a ruse to attract Matt and me into a deadly trap, makes me think that it was all my fault. I brought this onto us and the poor victims. It was my idea and plan to dismantle all those gangs, and although _I_ wasn’t the one doing the revolting killing, I unknowingly spurred it on.

I mean, I knew that whole ordeal would come back to bite me in the ass one day, but I never thought that it would be like _this_. In the end, he’s just looking to get revenge on Murdock and me for “robbing” him of a “steady job”. He was content and comfortable with his work for those criminals, and we went and fucked it all up for him. Eight people dead (and those are just the ones we **know** of) because I wanted to make this city safer. God fucking damn it. I know that everything has consequences, for every action there’s a reaction and all that shit. But _**this**_? It’s as fucked up as it gets. And it’s _all_ on **me**.

So, I was right about him laying a trap for me and having me follow him to that alley, practically giving myself on a silver platter to be kidnapped. But, that ain’t it, tho; the main reason why he hasn’t killed me yet is that he’s waiting for Daredevil to show up and rescue me. Since he figured out that I’m not only working with him but that I’m his girlfriend as well, he expects Matt to be able to track me down all the way over here. And once he arrives, the fucker plans to do the same to him that he did to me. Yeah, you got that right, I’m basically fucking bait.

Shit, I almost forgot to explain the part about the killer knowing Daredevil’s true identity. It’s pretty simple, actually (and unfortunate, as it makes me wonder if someone else has found out as well). Once he started following me, he discovered my connection to Murdock; then he got into investigating him too. Eventually, he retraced the same steps as I did once long ago, jumped through some hoops, and deducted that Matt is Daredevil. Well, I guess that if _I_ was able to figure out all that shit about Murdock, it wouldn't be a stretch that a genius psychopath could do the same. He even went as far as to resolve that Murdock has enhanced senses. Really did your research, didn’t you, fuckwad? Jesus Christ, we are in the middle of a real shitstorm.

And also, remember those dark thoughts I was venturing into when I first talked with Murdock about the possibility of never catching this fucker? Well, they have come back stronger as of late. I mean, can you really blame me at this point? You could be having these very same disturbing thoughts and I wouldn’t condemn you for them, I would totally get it, actually. It’s scary –trust me, I know–, but the alternative is utterly terrifying, to be honest with you.

By now, I’m not seeing another viable option in order to keep me, Matt, and everybody else in this city safe from this maniac. Seriously, though, so far there hasn’t been found anything that links the murders back to him. And, he could be lying about it too, he said that he has nothing on him that could incriminate him either. No “prizes” taken from his victims, like locks of hair or items of clothing (which I wouldn’t put it past him since he seems fucked in the head like that…).

Without tangible proof that relates to him, there won’t be a conviction. Even if we manage to gather circumstantial evidence, he’ll walk free at the end of the day. And if _that_ happens, then he’ll keep killing innocent people undeterred. Not even the law might be able to help us with this one. I know you haven’t seen what I have, but I told you about how fucked up this man is. There’s **no** redemption for him, I know it.

No matter what Matt believes, his soul is already damned, has been for a long time now. We could throw him into jail and it won’t make a fucking difference anyway. He knows a lot of people in the criminal underworld _**and**_ he knows Daredevil’s true identity. He’s a psychopath, if he’s put behind bars, he’ll totally snitch to everyone he knows and Murdock’s secret identity as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen will be blown to smithereens. Fuck! I can’t let that happen!

I want to believe there’s another road I can take to solve this problem, but I only see the one. And I want to abide by Matt’s moral code of “we kill nobody”, but I don’t really think it stands in this case. The man is too much of a monster to be left alive. He’s too dangerous, with the combined connections and knowledge he possesses. He’ll get Matt and me killed by anybody that dares if he can’t ultimately do it himself. He wants to see us dead, that he made abundantly clear while he was torturing me for his own twisted pleasure. I can’t fucking let that happen, no matter what Matt thinks about killing! I wish I didn’t have to, I really do. But there ain’t another way out of this nightmare.

Maybe, if I’m lucky enough, it’ll happen on its own. A little accident that takes the murderer’s life. Shit, if either Matt or I manage to get the police here then they could be the ones to shoot him dead. That way the threat would be neutralized and I could retain my still somehow clear conscience (which isn’t that clear since, you know, I killed the scumbag who murdered my mother; although, it was on accident and the piece of shit fucking deserved it). Still, knowing my track record of shitty luck, I highly doubt whatever god there is – _if_ there’s one, or many, what the hell do **I** know about it– would be so kind. Nah, the chaotic universe _loves_ to see me suffer far too much for some miracle like that to happen. I’m just buried to the neck in shit after all.

* * *

“Wakey, wakey, you naughty bitch. It’s time for breakfast~” _That_ voice. That sickly sweet, condescending, annoying as fuck, sing-songy voice from HELL that I have come to loathe during the hours since I woke up the first time in this fucking nightmare. It has returned to further torture me and drive me into madness. God fucking damn it, I was having a field day with all the peaceful quiet surrounding me, and that almost lulled me to sleep. Why the hell did you have to come and ruin that for me, man? _Fuck_ **you**. And what the fuck does he mean by “breakfast” anyway? He can’t be for real that it’s already morning, right? Right?! Fuuuck!!!

Also, “Naughty bitch”? Who the hell would even call another person something like that? Crazy-ass perverted bastard. Hasn’t he had enough of this by now? Hasn’t he reached his fill of my torment? Why can’t he just fucking _kill me_ already?! I would rather die than to keep hearing this lunatic’s vexing tone of voice. And his mouth only opens to either mock me or taunt me anyway, so it’s fucking useless as well. I would want for nothing more than to be able to tell him to fuck the right off (in case he refuses to shut the hell up for once), but I can’t even do that.

By this point, I’ve screamed my throat raw. I won’t lie and say I played it tough, although, I did hold back my tears as much as I could; I wasn’t gonna give him _that much_ satisfaction). I have never been in so much physical pain in my entire life, not even when I got shot or interrogated by those scumbags after finding out that Matt cheated on me. And, the idea of being close to my death isn’t comforting either. Catching Claire sleeping in Matt’s bed, or having him never show up before I ended up confronting my stepfather... Fuck, maybe not even my dad’s or my mom’s deaths were as heartbreaking as this.

Knowing that I won’t ever see the light of day again, that I won’t be able to kiss Matt one last time; _knowing_ that I’ll break **his** heart by dying basically from stupidity... Nothing hurts as bad as _**that**_. And it’s not that I hoped my last breathing moments to be more glamorous or glorious; I just wished them to be happier. But the worst part is knowing that it’s still not over, that I’ll probably keep being tortured and perhaps even raped as well before being killed. At least, if the universe is kind enough, my body will have long since become cold before Matthew finds it. I don’t want to die in his arms; I don’t want for either of us to have to suffer through that. I’ll rather die alone.

“Hey, slut, don’t fucking space out on me”. The scathing comment comes along with a sharp slap to my already abused face, which is sufficient enough to bring me back to the present. Motherfucker I would kick your teeth in if I could. Why don’t you fucking man-up and untie me so we can have a go at it, huh? See which one of us is the superior fighter. I can’t believe I still have to listen to this fucker drone on and on about stupid and disgusting shit. I’ll rather stay unconscious, thank you very much! “Anyway, as I was saying, you really messed up my perfectly arranged schedule”, he says in a fake whining voice and acting like he’s truly upset that I –apparently _somehow_ – managed to fuck over his plans. Oh, do please enlighten me on this small victory of mine, then.

“You were supposed to be corpse number six since it would have been the perfect joke as you are the Devil’s girlfriend”, he continues with that irritating tone of his. And honestly, I don’t know which I find more disturbing, the fact that he refers to his victims with such cold indifference (which should be expected, all things considered), or that he actually called me “the Devil’s girlfriend”. Like, what in the absolute fuck? Also, seriously, number **six** , just for a fucking _joke_? This dude has so many issues that it would be impossible for me to list them all, even if given plenty of time.

“But no, you had to go running around only during the day and ruin my chances of catching you at night”. So, the bastard had been stalking me for quite a while now, and not only to gather some intel on me either. Makes me wonder what else has he been up to during that same timeframe. “So, I had to make a little change of plans and readjust my calendar, making you dead body number nine since –you know– nine upside-down is six”. I can just about _hear_ the disgustingly chilling, self-satisfied smile on his face.

I can’t believe this psycho is for real. Nor can I believe that he can have such a flair for the dramatic. I guess he’s in the right, though, since I heard something on the radio earlier –while I was in and out of consciousness– about another body being found. Fuck, the fact that he went to such lengths _just_ because of a fucking game makes me sick to my stomach. The fucking asshole killed more people just to get “the numbers” right!

He waited to kidnap me and killed more people in the meantime until he could make me his ninth victim. How fucked up is that? Yeah, you don’t have to tell me that just _murdering_ people is already plenty fucked up. But what he has actually been planning and doing is on a whole other level of wickedness and evil. I feel tempted to ask about what he would have done if he couldn’t catch me “in time” again, but I fear the answer.

Still, I croak the question aloud, cringing at how broken and raw my damaged voice sounds. “Oh, well, then I would have waited until I reached the number twelve”, he answered nonchalantly, as if I was asking him whether he prefers sweet or salty foods. “Because of that whole shtick about thirteen being an unlucky number or whatever”. You sick fuck! He would have killed four more people if I didn’t happen to follow him to that alley where he snatched me from. I can’t believe this demented fuck.

“Guess I’ll just have to punish you extra hard for being such an inconvenience this past month”, he says in a sort of patronizing and moderately scolding tone of voice that serves more to irk me than to scare me. Motherfucker, my boyfriend is the motherflippin Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and I’m his partner in crime-fighting, you don’t know what true terror is until you fear every fucking night that you and/or the love of your life might die at any given moment.

I had broken bones and been shot while stalking _Daredevil_ in order to find out who he was. I was tortured and beaten up during interrogation after running away when finding my boyfriend cheated on me. I accidentally killed the worthless cocksucker that married my mother, after he murdered her and tried to rape me. I worked for months undercover for some of the most dangerous criminal organizations of this city and helped in bringing them down. I have been working for several months now alongside the “Devil himself” on disbanding different illegal operations and aiding to put behind bars all sorts of crooks and thugs. You have _**NO**_ idea what I’m afraid of and whatnot.

“This ain’t my first rodeo, bitch!” I managed to nearly yell to his face –or at least I think so since he sounded hella close and has been intermittently petting and yanking my hair since he started talking– despite the pain inflicted by my damaged throat. If I could exactly pinpoint where he’s standing beside me, as Matt can, I would spit on his stupid face without caring about what consequences that “disrespectful” action would get me. This dickhead deserves to be put back in his place and humiliated as much as possible. But it’s true, nevertheless, that this isn’t the first time I found myself in a similar situation, and sadly it might not be the last one either (that if I’m lucky enough to not die first). So, bring it on, you piece of utter fucking shit.

“Oh wow, I’ll admit I’m thoroughly scared right now”, he says mockingly, as if I couldn’t fuck him up as much as he did to me if he were to release me from my bindings. Just uncuff me and see how _scary_ I can really be, asshole. Wouldn’t want to face the wrath of ‘Satan’s Little Helper’, would I?” You little shit. You think you’re so cheeky, huh? Being all condescending and derogatory…

Wait, hold on, the fuck did he just say to me? Did he just call me what I think he did? He wouldn’t fucking dare, he wouldn’t! Not if I had free use of my hands and legs to kick his ass to oblivion and beyond. Pussy ass bitch that taunts someone while they’re tied to a chair. Stop being a fucking coward and face me for real, you son of a bitch!

“Motherfucker!”

* * *

“Can you believe this _shit_?” I ask Matt after reading the paper, still half asleep but now thoroughly pissed off. How dare they mock me in such a demeaning way? They should show more respect to someone who’s fighting in the ongoing war against crime. If I didn't need to keep my identity a secret, I swear I would force Matt to sue these asshats for all they are worth (which, honestly, shouldn’t be much considering how piss-poor their manners are).

I didn’t work and train my ass off and bring down most of New York’s most wanted criminal groups only to be disregarded so openly by the news media. The fuck is wrong with them? Is it because, somehow, they found or figured out that I’m a woman? Is it just them being a bunch of sexist assholes? Truly unbelievable. At least Murdock didn’t get made fun of at the beginning (or ever, for that matter). Called things like “crazy” or “dangerous”? Sure, but he wasn’t made into a fucking joke.

“I think it’s endearing, actually”, comes Matt’s low reply after he takes a sip of his coffee, accompanied by a charmingly smug smirk that it’s meant to calm me down a little bit –yet at the same time rile me up some–. No, fuck that! I’m _fuming_ with this news. I knew I couldn’t hold any kind of expectations for when this moment finally arrived, but this is taking it too far. Is this how they thank me for the invaluable aid I provide to this city’s inhabitants? For protecting the innocent from the wicked? I wasn’t expecting to be called a hero, alright? I just hoped for better treatment once being in the public eye. This officially sucks ass! Also, you ain’t helping shit, Murdock.

“Are you crazy? It’s not supposed to be fucking _endearing_ , Matt, it’s supposed to be threatening”, I remind him accusingly, feeling like I’m going to fly off the handle at any given moment now. “Like ‘The Punisher’ and ‘Daredevil’”, I point out, feeling just so outraged and offended. And I don’t care if you think I’m exaggerating in my reaction to “something so silly”. This is important to me, and they stepped out of line. “They’re calling me ‘Satan’s Little Helper’, for fuck’s sake”, I almost shout in exasperation, not being able to believe the sheer _audacity_ of these morons.

Am I a joke to all of them? Am I a joke to you as well? I’m really hoping you aren’t laughing at this, my dearest friend, that would be such a low blow, even for me. Anyway, I knew better than to trust the media with something as important as my vigilante alias. All those takedowns can’t be for nothing, so this better not be official at all. And I know how fucking entitled I sound, but this is **so** humiliating.

“I’m a badass, _Matthew”_ , I state with resolve and almost spitting out his name in aggravation –still not believing that he’s taking this as a laughing matter, instead of backing me up–, while jabbing a thumb on my chest while staring defiantly at Murdock. He, on the other hand, is just looking at me with amusement dancing in those sightless hazel eyes of his, trying to fight off the smile dying to appear on his stupidly handsome face (like, honestly, how can one man be so beautiful? So unfair).

If he wasn’t my boyfriend, whom I love very much, I would try to punch him in the face. Well, no, actually I would just think about it instead of doing it. Don’t need to get violent with him over this. Still, how can he be saying things like that? He should be on my side, god damn it! He _knows_ how big of a deal this is to me. Why the heck is he teasing me about it? I swear I’ll mess up anyone who _dares_ to call me by that belittling moniker. And by “anyone” I mean **criminals** , don’t get me wrong.

“Of course you are, a **little** badass”, he adds with a beaming grin showing his pearly whites. At hearing that, I give a choked scream of frustration, giving in to my basest desires and ripping apart the offending newspaper still in my hands. I don’t care if I’m behaving childishly or if I’m embarrassing myself, I just want to let my emotions flow (cause I’m not allowed to do it practically anywhere else besides this apartment; you know, in order to not look crazy, get arrested, or end up in the hospital/dead). And it feels good, so good to just let go and let out all the anger. Also, Matt’s a little shit for that last insulting and uncalled for comment. He’s my freaking boyfriend, for crying out loud!

* * *

Hi, again. Welcome back to my shitty life. You know, I’ve been thinking as of late –mainly because I have shit else to do while trapped here–, amidst my hazy loneliness surrounded by darkness... That maybe I _am_ dead and this **is** Hell. ‘Cause it sure feels like I have been here since forever. God, I hate this. I just wanna go home, man (or woman, or whatever you identify as, I don’t mind at all. Sorry if it seems like I’m assuming your gender, it’s just an expression I picked up after working with so many male criminals; sometimes it just slips out).

That too much to ask, to be freed? I have no idea how long it’s been since I went missing, my concept of time has been warped beyond understanding, after being held tied to a chair and tortured for what feels like days. It could have been days, for all I know. Also, being left alone for extended periods of time, as well as switching between consciousness and unconsciousness, isn’t helping at all either. I’m telling you; time feels so stretchy right now and everything is so fucked up, that I could have been killed and went straight to Hell and I wouldn’t even notice the change. Especially because I don’t know what the fuck Hell looks like anyway. Never been there before to know the difference.

Still, what the asshole told me –hours, maybe days ago– kept reeling in my mind and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It happened in the middle of our “conversation” (rather his taunting monologue with a few of my interjections) back when he first revealed that he knew who I really was and how deep my connection with Daredevil ran.

I tried to deflect as much as I could, going as far as to deny any involvement with Matt yet not doing the same with his claims about my undercover work. And even when it became pretty obvious that he figured out the part about me working with Daredevil, I attempted to throw him off course. “What makes you think that I’m working _with_ him and not just **for** him, huh?” I asked him at the time, still nursing a headache and waiting to see if he would take the bait.

“No, you weren’t working **for** him, you were working _with_ him”, he answered with a sneer, mirroring the tone of my down to the same inflection on the same words. Pompous bastard. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten as deep undercover as you did”, he pointed out intelligently, clearly not having skipped a beat nor ignoring any details. “He wouldn’t have let you get so involved with the dirty work that was being carried on. He’s just too much of a moralist for that”.

I can still remember crystal clear the way he spitted out the word “moralist” as if he left a bad aftertaste in his mouth. Can’t say he was wrong though; if I were indeed working for him, as a mere underling, I wouldn’t have gotten that far. So, in the end, the reality was pretty obvious. Either I had gone rogue or I was in more of an equal position. It actually was both, but details. He doesn’t need to know my entire life story, depressing bit by bit.

Perhaps that’s what tipped him off, after all, about me working alongside the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen instead of being just his minion. And that might also be what pushed him in the right direction to discover just _how much_ involved I was with Murdock. Fuck, it really is all my fault. How the fuck am I going to explain all of this to Matt? If I survive, of course. He’s probably gonna use it as a reason to lecture me all over again about how dangerous it was to go undercover in the first place. I’ll never hear the end of it. And no, don’t even think for a second that I don’t feel guilty for all the lives this monster took just to get back to me and Matthew. I swear to whatever fucked up entity that threw me in this hell pit of a life that I will get justice for all of those victims, one way or another. That psycho will get what he has coming, you just wait.

And regarding the subject of Matt being a bigger moralist than I am, the crazy dickhead is absolutely right. I’ll even further prove it to him as soon as I’m able. Because right now, I have left no fucking morals to spare for his dementedly murderous ass. Shit, if I’m feeling up for it I’ll go full Hammurabi’s law on him. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Or in this case, torture and death multiplied by _nine_. ‘Cause since all those people aren’t with us anymore to reclaim their part of the just retribution I will enact on him, I’ll take the liberty of doing it for **all** of them.

I’m gonna make the fucker **wish** he was never fucking born in the first place. That would be real justice, despite whatever Murdock claims. I’m aware I sound awfully similar to Castle’s crime-fighting “philosophy”, but I’m talking about one guy here. It’s not like I’ll go on a killing spree, taking out every petty criminal I find. I’m just suggesting to go Punisher style on someone who actually _deserves it_. That can't be so bad, can it?

* * *

What? Did I “fall asleep” again? Shit, what is… Yo, what the fuck is going on now? Is the fucker back already? What the– Hold on, someone’s here, but it doesn’t feel like it’s the killer. Who the hell could it be then? Did the motherfucker bring friends to gang-rape me or something?! Hell fucking no! I’m not a fucking blow-up sex doll, you unhinged and depraved bastard! I won’t let you nor _anyone_ else use me like that. I’ll bite your throat open if I have to, I don’t care if I choke on your blood while at it. I’m even willing to proudly take responsibility for it if I’m found out.

Damn set on not letting whoever just arrived to get their way with me, for whatever twisted reason they have in mind, I begin to struggle and thrash around as much as I can, trying to dislodge the person’s hands that keep trying to still my wrists. The pain from pulling at my bruised and bleeding flesh –from several attempts at freeing myself over the hours, or days, that I spent here– doesn’t even register in my mind as the adrenaline courses through my veins. I won’t let this new, unknown asshole to just do whatever the fuck he wants with me without at least putting up a hell of a fight, no matter how tired or hurt I am. I’ll rather get tortured or killed instead. Still, it’s no use since the cuffs won’t budge at all.

Meanwhile, my panic is steadily rising by the second, making me grow more and more frantic and desperate to get away from him. Or at least I think it’s a man, by the feel and strength of his hands. Although, now that I’m paying more attention to him, he’s wearing _gloves_ , which can mean that he might be one of the killer’s friends, who’s looking forward to doing some illegal shit to me and plans on leaving no fingerprints behind. Either way, what’s really starting to freak me out is the fact that this stranger hasn’t tried to stop me or restrain me further. He hasn’t even said anything yet. The fuck is his deal then? Fucking wannabe-rapist weirdo...

“Mackenzie, it’s me. Please stop moving, you are hurting yourself”. It might be just the insanity developed after being held hostage and tortured for days (or was it hours?), but at that last comment, I can only give a broken laugh in response, finding it funny and ironic that he says that. Not only because **he** is the one wanting to hurt _me_ , but because the damage already done to my wrists was all me to begin with. But, how does he know my name, though? Did the killer tell him? That sick fuck. And the hell does he mean by “it’s me”? Who the–

It takes a moment longer to fully register to _whom_ the voice belongs to, but when I finally match it to a familiar and lovely face, I instantly sag like a sack of potatoes and go completely limp on the chair. I can’t believe this is actually happening. It’s _Matt_ , he’s **here**. He came to rescue me. After all this time being convinced that I would die here without ever seeing Matty again, I’m finally getting the fuck out of this hell. And just in about fucking time, since the fucker isn’t even here…

Or is he? Oh my god. I don’t know, I can’t remember; I’ve been passed out for who knows how long. He could still be here, waiting in another room, covered by shadows. That wouldn’t actually help him to remain unnoticed, tho; perhaps if he was in a soundproof room, but I think that Matt can hear the inside of those as well as any others. Guess it doesn’t matter anyway. Wasn’t this part of his plan, now that I think of it, to get Murdock to come save me? Didn’t he want to do the same that he did to me to Daredevil, before killing us both?

Oh no. NononononoNO! FUCK NO! I can’t let that happen! I can’t lose him too!!! My dad, my mom, everyone that I love deeply eventually is cornered by death. But not this time, and not with Murdock. We have to get the hell out of here right fucking now! I need to tell Matt; I have to warn him about the killer possibly lurking around. He should be able to tell, though, right? But he has been deceived before when it comes to sensing the presence of someone who doesn’t want to be noticed, has he not? He could be unaware as of now, being too preoccupied with me and my feeble state. Trying so hard to _save_ **me**.

And I should trust him, I know, as much as I know that he isn’t stupid. It’s just that sometimes, he can get distracted and overlook some things or details, at least when my wellbeing is concerned. It has happened before and it can happen again. I still gotta give him a heads up and make sure that he stays alert of his surroundings before it's too late. “M-Matt...?” Jesus Christ, I sound like a dying person, one that has been left to rot in a dark cell without food or drink. Honestly, my voice sounds unrecognizable. And it hurts so bad to try to talk, but I still gotta tell him, though. He needs to know; he needs to be aware of the danger…

“Shh, it’s okay, I got you now. Everything is going to be alright. We are going home now”, he reassures me with a gentle whisper Home, that sounds like Heaven. And his sweet and gentle low rumble of a voice just makes it sound even more pleasant. I can’t wait to get there, with him. Finally safe; not dying anymore. All we have to do is get the cuffs off of me, and it seems that Murdock is already working diligently on that. One leg free, then the other. Didn’t know he had such pick-locking skills, but then again it shouldn’t come as a surprise. I suppose it’s to be expected of someone with his enhanced senses of hearing and touch. My hands are next and I pull the cursed blindfold as soon as I’m able. Damn, it feels good to be **free**.

First thing I notice after opening my eyes for the first time in what feels like forever –and after the blinding moment of going from darkness to brightness comes to pass–, is a fucking crossbow mounted a few paces in front of me, aimed at my face. What in the goddamn fuck? I look around me and I notice that there are _three_ more of those things, all pointed at me. And when I look down, there’s a maze of wires around my chair, connecting to the four crossbows.

What the hell? Was the psycho expecting I would unintentionally kill myself if I ever got uncuffed? What a sick fuck. Even worse, **Matt** could’ve tripped on one of those and either hurt me or himself. What a fucking mess. I can’t believe the killer would go to such lengths. I mean, the crazy mofo set up a _fucking_ **trap** , as if he were some kind of cliche supervillain or something. Who fucking does that anyway? This ain’t Home Alone.

Oh, shit. Wait a sec, there’s something I need to do right away, especially if the murderer is still around. I don’t take a peek at Murdock before lunging from my chair, wanting to waste no time in trying to extract myself from the intricate arrangement of wires. Matt speaks, probably telling me about being more careful so I don’t injure myself further. I don’t care nor do I have the time for it, I need to find my phone now. Where the fuck is it?

That asshole better still has it somewhere, ‘cause if I find out he tossed away I’ll beat the shit out of him for it. I would ask Matthew to call it so it’s easier to find, but it could be in silent mode. Also, I don’t want to waste time or make the killer aware of what I'm trying to do. If he’s still here, he's gonna try to make a move on us. And if he succeeds and starts up that “evil genius villain” monologue of his, I’ll want to have it on record.

I manage to finally locate my cell phone inside a drawer on a desk to my immediate right, against the wall. The guy is either an idiot or way overconfident to keep the phone in such a reachable place. It goes to show just how _sure_ he is that he’ll be able to get away with this. Whatever, all I need to do now is start the audio recording app and leave it in an inconspicuous yet strategic place, so it picks up his words but it doesn’t look like it’s obviously recording. I set it up as fast as I can before turning towards Murdock, seeing him for the first time since I left the office...yesterday? Or when was it? How long has it really been since then? Ugh, who cares?! Right now isn’t the time to find answers to pointless questions. We need to find that bitch and bring him to justice, but the Punisher kind of brand.

Still, I can’t help but smile –feeling happy and relieved– when my eyes finally land on the familiar dark-red mask. I’m going home for once and for all, but not before exacting revenge on mine and every other victim’s behalf. The shithead is going down _hard_. And it is right after thinking this that I see him emerge from the shadows. Before I can even react to the killer’s appearance, a loud bang is heard while a flurry of motion obscures my view of the psychopath as I’m pushed aside.

What the hell is happening now?! A heartbeat later the fucker is lunging at Matt with an aluminum bat that he uses to strike my boyfriend on the head, catching him by the left ear and making him fall to the floor, stunned and in pain. I can only stare and blink, incapable of processing what’s going on. And as if all that wasn’t enough, now there’s heavy metal music blasting from everywhere.

This means trouble; Matt is highly susceptible to loud sounds like that. And he has been hit in the head, which probably means that he’s out of the fight for the time being. Guess it all comes down to me then. I’ll have to keep my ground as much as possible, can’t go down more than ever before. It’s me against this prick, and it’s time I send him packing to **Hell**. I won’t let him touch Matthew again; I won’t even let him get _close_. I’ll gauge his eyes out if he fucking dares to hurt my boyfriend any further.

Now that I’m free, I get to fuck up this bitch as much as I want. I won’t let the pain nor the tiredness keep me from giving him what he deserves. All I have to do is mind the frickin wires, my injured leg (the one with the thigh sporting a deep stab wound), and my broken fingers. Besides that, I think I can manage fine. I’ll do anything to keep Murdock safe. We are just around the corner of _ending_ this.

“Home, huh? If by that you mean _Hell_ , then I’ll make sure to send you **both** on your way soon enough”. That annoying voice, that lame-ass joke/threat, that fucking face wearing a shit-eating grin and looking at me as if I were nothing more than a piece of meat... I had enough of this; it ends now. The douchebag probably fired that arrow on purpose, to force Matthew into having to push me out of the way from its trajectory before I got hit by it and to have the perfect opening for taking him down. Cunning bastard. Now Matt is lying on the floor, clutching his pounding head in pain. You’re gonna pay for that, asshole. You’re going to pay for _everything_.

“You think I’ll let you do that? Well, think again, dipshit. Imma take you down, then we’ll see who ends up in Hell first”, I say as loud as I can, yelling above the blasting music. It seems that he’s able to hear me, since his expression grows even more deranged than before, right before he begins to laugh like the maniac he is. It just takes him two long strides to get in front of me and try to grab me by the throat. Thankfully for me, it seems that his skills in hand-to-hand combat don’t go beyond street knowledge.

This is good since I have been trained in the ancient ways of kicking ass. I duck away from his arms and sidestep him, wincing in pain when I put weight on my wounded thigh. I also should mind my blood-slicked hands, products of my missing nails. Bitch is gonna pay for that too, of course. I don’t even want to think how painful the process of growing them back will be, or if they’ll do so normally. Lucky me and my lack of femininity since at least I don’t have to worry about getting my nails done.

“ _You_ think you can keep me locked up forever? Don’t be stupid”, he sneers in taunt while throwing a punch that I dodge by a hair’s breadth. He keeps coming at me in sort of a lazy and uncoordinated way as if he not only didn’t know well what he’s doing but not caring either; more like aiming to tire me out, really. It seems that he’s overconfident about how this situation will play out, which is a big overestimation of both Murdock and me. Yes, I’m tired and in almost paralyzing pain, so I can’t really do much in a physical fight (and he can clearly see that, that’s why he isn’t trying hard to knock me down; plus, with Murdock temporarily rendered useless, he doesn’t have much to worry about, unfortunately). What I _can_ do, is try to outsmart this fucking cunt.

“I have contacts everywhere, friends in high places, and I collected dirt on everyone I worked with or for during all these years”, he assures me confidently, attempting to kick me in the gut. I just jump back and grab his still outstretched leg and push him to the side, throwing him off balance and against the crossbow standing to what was my right when I was still on the chair. He crashes with the thing and triggers it on impact, sending the arrow flying across the room until it lands on the opposite side wall. It’s a relief that I don’t have to worry about these things hurting Matt since he’s still on the floor. I would hope he recovers quickly enough, though, but I know that as long as the music is still on, that won’t happen. It's all up to me now.

“I’ll get out sooner than later, be it after serving a reduced sentence or via a more illegal way, just like Castle did”, he says as he regains his footing and pushes aside the empty crossbow. Well, now he’s just flaunting his coerced immunity and that’s pissing me off. There are only two bows still armed (or whatever the term is to indicate they are ready to be shot, I’m not an expert on crossbows, okay?) the one in front of the chair and the one behind it.

Speaking of the chair... I move as swiftly as I can –keeping from tripping or stepping on the wires– to put the dreaded piece of furniture between me and the killer, minding Matthew’s current position on the floor. It’s not much but it’s still something to give me a little more time to think while this idiot keeps blabbering about how he has a “get out of jail” free card.

“And when I get my freedom back, I’ll come for you and your little blind lawyer of a _boyfriend_ ”, he declares spitefully, quickly jumping the wire behind the chair and trying to lunge at me again. I almost throw myself to my left in an attempt to dodge him, but he manages to catch me and grab my left wrist, which he subsequently breaks. I scream in pain, calling him a bunch of names meanwhile. A few seconds after he’s holding me up in the hair, crushing my windpipe in the process. Fucker’s choking the life out of me; if I don’t get him to release me soon enough, I’m gonna pass out for sure. We can’t have that now, can we? “I’ll make sure that you suffer the _most_ before I finally **end you** ”. The nasty snarl that accompanies his words is cut short when I manage to knee him in the balls.

He drops me instantly, and I struggle to fill my lungs with air while he cradles his junk, kneeling in pain on the floor right in front of the chair. This is as good a chance as I’ll probably get. Now’s the time to end this. He goes on to sputter about how he’s gonna kill Matt and me as he did with his previous victims, going as far as to cite which methods of torture he’ll use on us that he already used before on each person. Fortunately enough, he’s positioned almost right next to my record phone. Fucking idiot is telling it all.

So, if I make it out of here alive, I’ll have a full confession to deliver to the police (the dumbass is even mentioning names and things that only the perpetrator himself would know; thanks a lot for making my job easier, you stupid bitch). That will help clear my name of any charges, ‘cause what I’m about to do has the potential to send me to jail if I don’t get confirmation that **he** is the serial killer that has been terrorizing the city for two months.

Although –and I know this is _not_ the time to be pondering about this, but I can’t help it–, this makes me wonder. Has the accidental killing of my stepfather perhaps made me unconsciously desensitized to killing more people as long as they are true monsters like he was? People who hold no desire for redemption, that is. Right now, I have two options and a choice to make. I can either knock him out and walk away with Murdock in tow, saving us from a gory fate but thus allowing the murderer to slip through our fingers and continue to kill.

Or, I can take the matter into my hands and deal with the threat that he poses, in a more definitive way. After all, he _did_ just threaten to expose Murdock and me once he goes to jail, effectively putting a target on both of our backs and everyone related to us in any way, like Foggy, Karen, and Claire. I guess I already know what my decision is, even if the two men in front of me don’t know it yet.

The dickhead is sure that I’m gonna hand him to the cops since he believes I share Daredevil’s moral code down to a fault. That’s where he is wrong. Yes, Matt would absolutely catch him and turn him in to Mahoney, he wouldn’t even consider another option. But me? Let’s just say I’m more open to choosing other possible ways to handle this. And I can’t be sure about this, but all that he said makes me think that he hasn’t divulged the info he has about Murdock and me to other criminals. He probably wanted to keep it to himself so that he would be able to get to us and succeed in his fucked-up plan. Yeah, he stayed silent about it and preferred to keep the knowledge as leverage in case he was apprehended.

Well, he certainly thinks himself a genius. Then again, he really was counting on me not planning on _killing_ him. That’s just great, one less thing to worry about, if that’s the case (which I really think it is, otherwise, we would have already been attacked by someone else; he wanted the exclusive so much that he didn’t realize that this would ultimately be the last nail on his coffin).

Having the certainty that as long as the psycho is dead, Matt and I will be safe, is the last piece I need to form my resolution on the matter of disposing of this monster. While he begins to stand up, the pain in his groin having easing a bit by now, I step back until I’m left standing beside the crossbow to my left. When the moron sees my left foot lifting ever so slowly until it’s hanging above the wire, he trails off mid-sentence. Doesn’t matter, I already have enough of an incriminating confession recorded that it’ll be more than obvious who the killer is.

He’s standing tall now, with his towering height and intense gaze, silently daring me to go through with it. Since I don’t move an inch, he takes it as either hesitation or just a bluff. He smirks cockily while starting to taunt me again, this time about being unable to “pull the trigger”. “See? You don’t have the balls to do it, after all”, he says defiantly and staring straight at me with challenging eyes.

I’m not risking having this fucker out Daredevil’s secret identity alongside mine, nor the possibility that he breaks out of jail and comes looking for us again. This ends tonight. I feign stomping on the wire, stopping about just an inch above it, and watch as the fucking coward drops to the floor instead of facing death with his head held high. He crouched down instinctively and in fear the second he thought I was going to shoot.

Fucking pussy. Still, it doesn’t take him long to open his eyes and see that I was faking it. As he realizes this, he starts getting up once again –albeit slower this time, as I still have my foot on top of the tense wire–. “I told you s–” I wait until he’s perfectly lined up to finally step on the cord and trigger the crossbow, shooting an arrow through his cold, dead heart, killing him almost instantly.

I stare at his emptying eyes with a stoic and calculated calmness, wearing a blank expression devoid of all emotion, and feeling nothing but a growing void inside of me. What have I done? I killed a person. Yes, an utterly horrible and despicable monster, yet a human being at the same time. Fuck. No matter how justified it was, just _knowing_ **I** _**took**_ his life...it makes me feel nauseous. How the hell am I going to explain this to Matthew? Shit. He’s going to hate me, isn’t he? I did it for him, I did it for us! I didn’t _want_ to, but I **had** to.

Okay, okay, I need to calm down. Right now it’s not the time to have a mental breakdown, Mackenzie! Keep your shit together, this nightmare ain’t over yet. Alright, first of all, I gotta shut down that awful music and stop recording with my phone. Then I can help Murdock and we can deal with this together. It’ll be fine, it will all be fine.

After all, I think I can spin this as an accident and not intentional murder. Don’t think either that the cops will have a hard time believing that and letting me off the hook... Jesus, that sounds so fucked up. I’m talking about getting away with _murder_ , what is wrong with me? I’m so going to Hell when I finally die. If I’m lucky enough, Matt will be able to still stand me, even if he never forgives me.

I mean, maybe I could tell him that it was an accident too, that either the killer or I tripped on the wire and the bow went off, killing the motherfucker in the process. He might even believe me since I doubt he was able to be aware of much of the ensuing fight, being too distracted by the loud music piercing his skull and whatnot.

Ugh, who am I kidding?! It’s no use, he would find out immediately, without even mentioning that lying to him about this is just plain _wrong_. I’ll rather be honest, no matter if that gains me his hate. He deserves to know the truth, so he can decide if he will still love me or not. Hopefully, he will. And if he doesn’t, _ever_ **again** , at least I’ll be content that he can carry on with his life and find happiness once more. As opposed to, you know, be either dead or running away from criminals hunting him down for the rest of his life.

That’s what would have definitely happened if the fucker was left alive, despite being sentenced to jail. Couldn’t take those chances. You get that, right? If _you_ **do** , in the very least, that counts as something. It’s better than nothing, especially if Matt chooses to break up with me and I don’t get to see him again after that. The things we do for love aren't always the prettiest.

When I finally take a moment to just _breathe_ , I notice the open window –leading to the fire escape stairs outside– on the other side of the room, the one that I trust Murdock used to get in. It’s nighttime outside, but that doesn’t give me a precise idea of **exactly** how much time has gone by since I was kidnapped. I’ll just ask Matt when I get the chance, now there are more pressing matters I have to attend to. Speaking of which, I better help Murdock stand up before I send him on his way. This shitshow is finally over, that means it’s time for the cops to show up and close this case. He definitely **can’t** be here by the time they arrive. I’ll be the one talking to them, not him.

Matt will vehemently oppose my plan for sure, but he’ll have to suck it up and adhere to it. Otherwise, he might mistakenly get blamed for this mess, at least at first. The officers would let him go once I play the recording on my phone, but it’s best to avoid that altogether. He’ll probably get worried about _me_ being accused of killing the man, but I didn’t directly touch the crossbow, and without a direct confession it’ll be hard for them to prove that it was intentional. Besides, I’m confident that they don’t give a shit about finding out exactly how the fucker died, who did it and why. Nah, they’ll take my word about it being an accident and close the case like that, content enough that they won’t have to keep chasing this psycho in vain.

Whatever I choose to tell them about who actually was guilty of his timely demise, they’ll buy it and won’t pursue it further. I have three options anyway, all without being done on purpose. It was either Daredevil –by accident, obviously, since he ain’t a murderer–, the asshole himself, or me. If I pick the first or the last, they might try to question if it wasn’t _really_ on purpose (and that probably would be Mahoney), but I believe I’ll be able to shut them down easily enough. After all, no matter **how** it was done, a big fucking problem the citizens were suffering just got solved. They should be thanking me, really. Okay, no, that would be going a little too far. Let’s just leave it at that for now.

Without wasting any more time than I already did, I shuffle close to Matt and gingerly kneel next to him, grunting in pain and feeling stiff all over. By now, he’s sitting on the floor and resting his back against the chair bolted to the floor. Huh, I never noticed that. It makes sense, though, since I was never able to topple the fucking thing. It’s also good that I wasn’t able to move it around, otherwise, I’m sure I would have ended with an arrow shooting through my skull. At least Matthew seems calmer now, and in less pain, but he might still be trying to gather his thoughts about what just went down. He’s probably gathering information as well, letting in as much as he’s able of his surroundings.

“Matty? Hey, it’s over...” I tell him tentatively, whispering a few inches from his face. He’s scowling, as far as I can tell, and I’m unsure if he heard me or not. His ears must be still buzzing after they were bombarded by the loud music, so it shouldn’t be surprising if he’s a bit deaf for a while longer. We should get the police here as soon as possible, but I don’t want to send him on his way when he’s still feeling vulnerable and unwell. It won’t hurt to wait until he regains complete control over his body and senses. Besides, I’m sure I won’t be able to dismiss him without at least giving a summarized explanation of what happened and what I intend to do. He needs to know what my plan entails, ‘cause I’m gonna need him and Foggy to fetch me at the 15th precinct.

“Wha–what happened?” Matt manages to ask after the ringing in his ears finally dissipates, but still feels a bit disoriented. He’s frantically “looking” around, which means he’s searching for the killer. Oh boy, when he finds out that he’s seating a few inches away from the dead body of that psychopath... “What? Is he dead?!” Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about: full panic mode.

I better explain this sooner than later, so we can get it out of the way before launching into the more complicated part of our conversation, which is convincing Murdock to get the fuck out of here. We might not get a lot of time until the police arrive after he makes the call –or maybe will do since I still have no idea of where the fuck we are–. Speaking of that, though...

“Yeah, he is. But more importantly, how did you _find_ me?” I ask, still a little surprised. Like, yeah, he has his enhanced senses and he makes it a habit to track people or locations, but I never thought he would get to me so quickly. Although, I have no way of telling if he did it fast or not as I still don’t know how much time has passed. Did he get a lead from someone? Was he able to hear my screams? Or perhaps I somehow left a clue behind, one that I completely forgot about afterward.

I hope he’ll tell me about it instead of freaking the fuck out about the killer “suddenly” being dead. Because there are no yelled questions or angry lectures being thrown my way, I’m confident to assume he has no idea what actually happened. But if the way he’s jerking his head around is anything to go by, he’s about to find out how the fucker met his demise.

“Uh, well, it was a combination of things”, he says while taking off his mask and laying it on his lap. He must be trying to get a clearer read of the corpse and his surroundings, wanting no barriers between his senses and everything else. And that action might be also an indication that there aren’t any more assholes lurking around. Phew, that’s good to know. I’m not sure I could deal with another dickhead tonight, at least not in a fight. “Karen was able to track your phone up to the alley where you were taken from”, he says in a quiet voice, reminiscing how worried and scared he must have felt when he figured what happened. “From that, I was able to pick up the scent of the perfume I bought you that one time”, he continues with a little smile gracing his lips.

Oh, yeah, now I remember. I always carried the little bottle of perfume around when out on my own, because I liked the scent so much –and since it was a gift from Matthew–, but also in case something happened and I needed to leave a trail behind. Murdock had specifically chosen that one not only because he knew I would like it, but because it’s distinctive enough for him to recognize. He had become so familiar with it that he would be able to track me down by following the scent.

Guess that strategy really panned out in the end. Also, I was right in believing that the douche had turned off my phone the moment he caught me. By the way, the reason behind Matt getting me that perfume is not just to play Hansel & Gretel; he got it for me after I mentioned one time that I always wanted to have one of those chic and luxurious designer perfumes that show up on ads all the time.

And despite my mind still being a bit fuzzy when it comes to the memories of my kidnapping, I think I smashed the bottle on the ground of the alleyway. I did it right next to my foot so I could drench it in the flowery aroma while pretending to use it to get the idiot off of me. Can’t believe it actually worked; then again, Murdock can be relentless in his hunts when he puts his mind (or heart, in this case) to it.

It all turned out for the better, in the end, ‘cause I don’t think I could have survived much more of this nightmare. “Yeah, sorry about that, it was a lovely gift”, I apologize a bit sheepishly, lamenting the loss of the item yet still feeling glad that it helped in bringing Murdock to me. He smiles in kind and lets out a broken little laugh, the anxiety and fear he felt up to this point finally taking a toll on him while being washed away by relief, but assures me that without me doing that he would have taken longer to find me.

“From there, I ran into a dead-end for a while”, he admits a little morosely, lowering his head in shame and guilt. He shouldn’t feel that way, he did as best he could and he got me freed, that’s all that matters. “But then your source came through with some helpful information that pointed me to the beginning of the right path”. He sounds calmer now, relieved even. I can imagine that at that point he felt hopeful again. “After following leads through half the city and interrogating at least a dozen different criminals, I got to a rooftop a few blocks from here. That’s when I heard you screaming”.

The last part is uttered with a bitter tone, one filled with anger and anguish. I don’t even want to imagine how he felt at that moment, so afraid for me and my life. To think that he recognized my _screams_ from **blocks** away, he must have really been giving it his all to find me. I’m so grateful that he succeeded; and it never ceases to amaze me the extent his abilities can reach. “Still, when I was getting close, you suddenly grew quiet, so all I had left to tune in to was the perfume”. Damn, let’s give it up for Murdock, the best tracker in the world. I don’t think I ever loved this man more than right now. Odd thing to say in a moment like this, but I don’t give a shit. We are alive and we will be walking away free from this.

“You have no idea how happy I am that you managed to find me in time”, I begin, trying to hold back tears while squeezing his hands between mine. He wants to say something, though, probably protest about not being here soon enough, but I shush him before he can argue my point. “What matters is that I’m safe now, but this isn’t over yet”. God, all I want to do is sleep for three days straight, but it’ll be _hours_ before I get a chance to do that. I’ll have to receive medical attention first, and from there I’ll surely be sitting for a while in an interrogation room with Mahoney asking a bunch of questions about what the hell went down here and **how**. Gonna be a long night/morning. If I’m lucky, I’ll be home in the afternoon.

“Yes, you’re right. We need to get out of here”, Matt says while standing up with a bit of effort, using the chair for support. He’s only half right about that since _he_ is the one that needs to leave more urgently. After calling the cops, of course. Although, I know we’ll have a bit of an argument about that. He won’t agree with me and insist I go with him, so I’ll have to make him understand why that would mostly work against our favor. He won’t like it, but there’s no other way which will leave us both in the clear. It’ll only complicate and drag everything further, whereas I can end this tonight. This _**has**_ to end now.

“No, you need to call Mahoney and tell him to get here”, I instruct sternly, leaving no room for argument. “Explain that you managed to find the killer, fought him while attempting to bring him down and subdue him until the cops arrived, and that the idiot tripped over his own trap and got himself shot to death”. I think that can work, we just have to keep our stories congruent enough for them to make sense and not contradict each other. Besides, I can always use the blindfold excuse to my advantage and say that I didn’t see anything until all was said and done. There’s no way that they can prove otherwise, or that they’ll even care about such “details”, right?

“What?! Mackenzie, no, that’s not what happened”, Matt retorts heatedly, now standing up straight and grabbing me by the shoulders. He’s even shaking me slightly as if trying to make me “see some sense”. Not gonna work, Murdock. This is my _mess_ ; I’ll clean it up myself. Right from the start, this has been all on me, even if it turned out to be a byproduct of my good intentions and deeds. I was trying to do something good for the people of this city, and while I initially succeeded, I also unleashed a psychopathic serial killer upon them as well. Unintentionally, though. “And even if you want to spin it that way, you shouldn’t be here. They might–”

“They might nothing, Matty, it’ll only make things worse if I disappear”, I point out while cutting him off, not really in the mood to start discussing the implications of all of this. He’s fully aware by now of what happened and what **I** did. I’m sure there will be plenty of time to discuss this in depth, but not right now. I need to make him understand that my plan will benefit us both and that is crucial for things turning out alright. “Too many questions unanswered; and if I don’t deal with it then you’ll have to, making everything more complicated”. I mean, it’s best if the victim and survivor deals with explaining this mess to the authorities than the vigilante that rescued her and might have killed the perpetrator.

At my words, Matt’s jaw twitches wildly in disagreement and discontent, and he lets go of my arms (which he gripped after shaking me). He’s gonna try to convince me to go with him and leave this for the police to deal with, and he might even suggest that I send in an anonymous package the audio recording to the precinct, but that won’t solve all of our problems. We really need the cops to close this case before they start wondering about the real story that went on in here. “Look, I get that you don’t want me to be blamed for this, but you can’t possibly be suggesting that–”

“What I’m saying is that you’ll wait outside for Mahoney and you’ll brief him before he steps in, I’ll take care of the rest”, I explain in more detail with a firm voice and stance. I’m not budging on this, Matthew. “My blood is all over the fucking place, Matt, and we don’t have the tools nor the time to clean it all up now”. Not to even mention what a fucking nightmare that would be to attempt. Also, we ain’t covering a murder at _that_ length.

“Just let me deal with them, okay? I know them from my time giving all the info about gangs, remember?” I still have somewhat of a civil relationship with Brett, despite him not liking me much for working with Nelson & Murdock, working undercover for mobs, and doing a bit of vigilantism on my own (you know, fighting bullies and stuff). Nevertheless, he appreciates the help I provided with bringing all those organizations down and testifying against them on their cases.

“Besides, I’m sure they’ll be way too relieved about this nightmare being finally over to even look too closely at what actually happened here”. I’m betting my new suit on that assumption, I’m not even worried about it. We have a confession straight from the killer on tape; _I’m_ literally a victim of his, a survivor who can give testimony on what he said and did, what he **admitted** to. And to top it all, the blackmail material he has on…

Oh, speaking about that, I need to get rid of whatever he has on Daredevil’s identity. The police will be fucking raiding this place upon arrival; they will take _everything_ for inspection, computers, cellphones, papers, etc. They can have the intel relating to me along the rest, I don’t care. It might even help my case, actually. But they can’t find out about Murdock. “Actually, while we wait for them to come, I have to get rid of some things. Fucker knew who you are”.

“Wait, what?! How?” Murdock asks, equally surprised and confused, but I tell him it’s not the moment to elaborate and that I will explain later, after dealing with Mahoney and company. So, instead, he doubles down on his previous point. “But what if they _do_ look closely? Maybe not today or tomorrow; perhaps in a couple of days or even weeks, and then they figure out that **you** killed him. What about then?” He asks, desperate and afraid, and it breaks my heart, but I don’t have the time to convince him that it’ll all be okay after this. I need to find those documents, photos, recordings, whatever evidence the killer had about Matt being Daredevil, and get rid of it. Fuck, hiding this will be more difficult, yet it has to be done.

“I assure you, Matt, it won’t come to that”, I say while walking with a certain degree of difficulty to another room where I see what I suppose it’s the shithead’s workspace. There’s a ton of shit and it might take forever to go through all of it to look for what we need to get rid of. And that without taking into account whatever might be on the computer. Shit, I better get to work, but I’ll need gloves or something. “I’m the victim here, remember? Even if they don’t buy my story about the accident, I can still say that it was self-defense”, I reassure him confidently before asking him to lend me his gloves. He does so reluctantly even after I explain what I need them for.

“Would that send me to jail? Doubt it, all things considered, and with Hell’ Kitchen’s best defense attorneys having my back”, I comment dryly, attempting to make a joke but it falls flat. Matt doesn’t even look the slightest bit amused, then again, that’s understandable. Anyway, I have more important things to concentrate on. Thus, sitting carefully on a chair after laying a cloth on top, I start to peer through the papers. “So, calm down and make that phone call. It has already been a long fucking night as it is, don’t make it even worse for me, please”. I’m being a bit harsh, I know, but at this point, nothing else will work on making Murdock cooperate with me. We really need to get things going now.

“Alright, I’m sorry. You really sure about this?” He asks while taking out his burner phone, looking worried at me. I’m reviewing the documents ten at a time, too concentrated on catching anything incriminating about him or me (that can relate to him in that way). So, I don’t have much of a piece of mind to spare for him and his unnecessary concerns. I simply nod earnestly, hoping that will be enough, for now, to calm his nerves and start executing his part of the plan, which is fucking crucial, after all. But he doesn’t move a muscle, so I decided to give him a verbal reassurance to ease him further.

“A hundred percent, now go”, I answer him while giving him a meaningful look that he seems to sense. He leaves the room and I hear him go out the window. The conversation with Mahoney is muffled by the distance and the sounds of the night, but I’m sure that he’s sticking to the plan. He wouldn’t do anything to compromise me, even if he _is_ mad and hurt about me killing someone on purpose.

We’ll have a long talk about it, a heated argument perhaps. We might even fight about it and he may want to take some time apart, but I think we will prevail nonetheless. We went through so much together that at this point the only thing that could break us apart is if I went full Punisher, which I _**never**_ will. No matter what, I still respect human life and I believe most people have a shot at redeeming themselves. It’s just that sometimes, the monsters are too evil to contain.

* * *

Oh, you are back already? Alright, welcome then. It hasn’t been long since the last time you popped in, actually. Just like a few hours or so. I’m currently at the precinct with Brett, waiting for him to come back to the interrogation room with a cup of coffee. Got a blanket, by the way. You know, for the...shock. It’s hysterical, really; what I **need** is a bunch of painkillers, a nice bed, and a lifetime of therapy. If I’m not good with that, then I don’t think I will be at all.

I mean, the therapist would probably be the only person I could confess the murder to that wouldn’t subjectively judge me for it. Also, they wouldn’t call the cops on me. Not saying that Murdock will do the last, of course, but he’s sure as hell gonna do the first. I don’t even want to _think_ about the conversation that awaits me back home. Shit, I can barely handle what’s coming up next with Mahoney. I’ve got the feeling that if Matt’s safety wasn’t on the line as well as mine, I might admit to the killing of that monster. Crippling guilt is really starting to eat away at me, isn’t it? Fuck.

This isn’t helping, I need to distract myself. But with what? I have been sitting in this room alone for at least ten minutes now, which felt even longer than that. Okay, let me think... Oh! I know! I’ll give you a summary of what happened between the last time we spoke and now. Surely you wanna know what happened when the police showed up at the crime scene. And as it turns out, the fucker’s place was located near the docks and in the middle of a bunch of abandoned buildings that were usually used for criminal activities or by homeless people in need of shelter. That’s why nobody heard my screams, or at least no one that cared.

So, I was lucky –and thorough– enough to find every piece of information that the fucker had on us (and since it was less than expected, I took the liberty of getting rid of what related to me as well) and hand it over to Matt to dispose of. I’m not sure what he did with it since by the time he got back the police were already there, but I trust that it’s safe from prying eyes.

Basically, not much happened after that, at least on my end. I haven’t been able to talk to Matt yet. Last time we spoke, I gave him the documents to throw away after he finished his call with Mahoney. He just told me that they were on their way and to get ready for it. He also reiterated that if I wanted to split, he would help without a second thought. I had to reassure him again about my choice and then he went on his way.

That’s also the last time I saw him too, but I’m positive that he’ll show up here eventually, and with Foggy in tow. They’ll come to bail me out if necessary, but I’m sure I’ll walk out freely. It’s more like they’ll be here for moral support and to take me home than for legal reasons. It’ll still be fun to see Brett’s annoyed expression, though.

Anyway, I’m sure that, given my somewhat good relationship with Mahoney and some other officers, I will be released without further trouble. After all, I did help a _lot_ when the massive takedown of criminal organizations happened. By that point, I had gathered so much intel that I was basically a human gold mine for the cops. My declarations and testimony were more than sufficient in helping to put all those thugs behind bars. So, even if I’m not exactly like around here, I’m at least respected by these people.

Also, let’s not forget **who** is the real _victim_ here, shall we? It ain’t the dead asshole, that’s for sure. He deserved much more than what he got, but I couldn’t be bothered at the time. I was in a bit of a pickle and running out of time. Besides, Daredevil wouldn’t tell on me, and I’m the only one alive who knows exactly what happened; I’m pretty sure I have the upper hand here. And nobody will care about getting justice for such a despicable excuse for a human being.

Speaking of which, here comes Brett with that much-awaited coffee of mine. The detective opens the door with one hand holding a plastic bag while the other carries the steaming paper cup and a manilla folder. Time to get down to business. The bag holds my phone inside, so he probably wants to go over the audio with me and use it to ask specific questions. As for the folder, I think it may be the meager one they had on the bastard. That means it has more info about the victims and the murders than the perpetrator himself. He probably brought it to compare with what the fucker confesses in the recording. That’s all fine with me.

As he takes a seat in front of me, he apologizes for taking so long, excusing himself by saying the coffee machine works like shit most of the time and that he had to go gather the other things he needed as well. I tell him not to sweat it and that I would be more pissed if they didn’t let me get patched up before bringing me here.

He apologizes yet again, admitting that if it weren’t of utmost importance, they would have got me to come in tomorrow, but that they all wanted to be done with this as soon as possible. I give him a tired and slightly cynical smile, answering that I too want to wrap up sooner than later. Mahoney starts right after the pleasantries are exchanged, diving right into my recount of the events.

I tell him everything about what went down, except the part about me following the psycho because I figured it was him and I had been investigating his case for a while up until then. He doesn’t need to know that bit of the story, it would only complicate the larger narrative that I’m trying to push here. If he knows I was after him, he won’t believe so easily that _I_ didn’t kill him, and that’s paramount. That might make him connect Murdock with Daredevil too, and we can’t have that now, can we? This is all to keep Matthew safe, remember? Can’t go around screwing up, now of all times. He already knows about my seemingly separate affiliations to Daredevil and Matt Murdock, so I had to tread carefully unless I want him to connect the dots.

“So, you work for him, then?” Mahoney asks skeptically, yet with his interest peaked after I brought up the part about the killer knowing me from the time I was posing as a criminal. He’s clearly still curious about my relationship with Daredevil since at the time of the takedowns I chose to keep as quiet as possible about it. Thus, he looks mostly disbelieving, knowing about my undercover work and not thinking that someone like Daredevil would take kindly to that kind of tactic. After all, I had to get involved in a lot of illegal operations before I got enough intel to turn them all over to the cops. Whereas the masked vigilante’s approach is way more direct and “clean” than that (I mean, if you don’t count him getting his hands dirty with the blood of his beaten-up enemies).

“I don’t work _for_ him, detective, I work **with** him. There’s quite a difference there”, I reply without skipping a beat, feeling a bit annoyed and insulted to be considered just an underling of his. Can’t believe the psycho got that right when nobody else seems to get it. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing bad about working _**for**_ Matt –and I already do that, taking into account the things I do for Nelson & Murdock–, but I believe that at this point I earned my place in the crime-fighting vigilante community (if we can say that there is such thing). So, I deserve a little more recognition, wouldn’t you agree?

“Oh, really, and what’s that?” Comes Brett’s question regarding my last comment, about there being a difference between working for and working with Daredevil. Can’t blame him, though, since the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is known for working alone (even if he hasn’t done so for a while now). I mean, Frank, Elektra, Stick, and me, we have all worked with him and helped him or asked for his help. He’s not much of a team player, that’s for sure, but doesn’t mean he’s a loner either. Not anymore at least.

“More freedom of choice”, I say easily, letting my face transform from a blank expression to a smug one. It’s true, though. ‘Cause, otherwise, I would have to follow every one of Murdock’s directives and couldn’t do even half of what I have been doing so far. Damn, if it were up to Matt, I wouldn’t get involved at all, and I won’t have that. Still, I’m mostly referring to my undercover mission, since Mahoney knows about it and it’ll give him context enough. He thinks so himself, after all; that it’s unlikely that, if he’s my boss, I get to do things like joining the mafia –even if it’s just to dismantle it from the inside–.

“And what would that entail?” He continues anyway, undeterred and with an agenda of his own in mind. Detectives aren’t paid to not ask questions, after all (well, at least the honest ones). “Killing, perhaps?” Oof, _that_ question right there. Damn, Brett, didn’t think you would be so blunt about accusing me of **murder** , after all the things we went through together… Yeah, I know, I’m just fucking around. Guess it’s the anxiety trying to take over. Still, got to give him props for not believing anything at face value. It’s what makes him a good cop, pursuing the truth. But it’s one thing getting my hands a little dirtier than Daredevil by infiltrating criminal organizations and a completely different one taking a life.

“On the contrary, detective. Otherwise, we wouldn’t work at all”. That’s the hard truth and what worries me the most after what did happen tonight (actually last night since it’s already morning, but whatever). I doubt that Murdock will stop loving me after what I did; I would have had to literally do it just for the sake of it, not to protect us both and the people we care about. That’s the main reason why Matt doesn’t want to work with Castle, and even when he is forced to, he asks the marine to not kill anyone. He’s just lucky the older man begrudgingly complies.

After that little, kind of off track, chat we just shared, he began playing the audio recording and asking questions about it. I went into as much detail and truthfulness as I could stand without compromising either Murdock or me. It took a while since Mahoney wanted to be as thorough as possible, not leaving anything out. Thing is that the recording ended up being a fortuitous little convenient gift that is going to save my ass from jail.

I mean, this might sound too good to be true but the fucking thing stopped like two minutes before I killed the bastard, so that last part when he was taunting me to shoot him with the crossbow isn’t on tape at all. Can you believe that? It’s a fucking relief for sure since, otherwise, I would have been accused of doing it. Brett played the whole thing in front of me, asking question after question, fucking relentless. What’s mostly on record is the blasting music and the psycho screaming his confession above it. Nothing about my conversation with Murdock after the killer’s death either, as by that time I had already stopped the recording app.

And even my answering yell about taking him down can’t be interpreted as something more than an angry threat made by someone in my position, that being tortured and tied to a chair. Oh, and the part about going after my “blind of a lawyer boyfriend”? Well, that can’t be heard over the music and thus can’t be used to tie Matt to Daredevil. So many coincidences, I know, but I don’t care. Let’s just say I might have a guardian angel or something. It’s the killer’s fault anyway, for not speaking loud and clear enough every time. Like really, you’re gonna scream about your victims but not your specific threats towards me and my vigilante partner? Too bad then. My phone can’t do miracles, you know?

“Can you explain to me what happened in the end then? How did he wound up dead?” Brett asks with more of a serious tone, determined to get the truth out of me and close this case for good. Well, now we are getting to the tricky part of the story. I have to convincingly sell him the tale about how it was all an “unfortunate” accident. If I do it right, I’ll get him off my back for good.

“If you ask _me_ , I think he killed himself, by accident”, I comment nonchalantly and unfaced, with an even and measured tone of voice, as if stating a fact. “The loud music and my crappy phone might not be able to make it easy to discern, but by then they were already fighting each other”, I clarify to sell the story further. “At one point, I heard someone falling and I believe it was the killer”. Although, in reality, it was me who was the puppeteer of that whole situation. But I’m not saying that, of course.

“So, my theory is that Daredevil took him down and the man tried to stand up. While doing so, he accidentally stepped or tripped on the wire and got instantly shot”. I really hope I sound as honest as I’m trying to be. It all depends on Brett buying my bullshit right now. “That might be the reason why he got blasted in the chest when the crossbows looked like they actually reached up only to about his hip height. Dunno for sure, but it could be that”. It’s plausible, it makes sense, what else does he want for it to “be” the truth? Can’t be sure, but I think I’m on the right path here. Still got more up my sleeve, of course, I’m not a fucking idiot.

“That’s it then, it was just an accident?” Mahoney asks incredulously, which is to be expected since even to me it sounds like a bit of a stretch. Seriously, who could be THAT fucking dumb to trip over their own device? Ain’t impossible, though; there’s always even the smallest of chances. “You think he _really_ tripped over and triggered his **own** trap?” Nope. That’s what I would say if I were being honest, but I’m not. So it’s more conjecturing and misdirecting for me. I’m gonna keep spinning this story until it sounds as believable as Matt being blind. Okay, sure, that was mean of me, especially taking into consideration how many people –myself included– has questioned his blindness after finding out about his enhanced senses. Either way, I’ll keep lying through my teeth to protect us.

“Well, detective, as you saw for yourself, the gear he put together was intricate and a bit of a mess to navigate through”, I point out effortlessly, sounding confident enough (since, I mean, that part _is_ true). “All psychopaths are narcissists, so he might have tripped over his own hubris”. Like, for instance, thinking I would allow him to keep ruining Matt’s life and mine just because killing **most** people is wrong. Fucking idiot.

Don’t misunderstand me, though. I’m still not proud or happy about it, I’ll never be, but I did what had to be done. Can’t change the past, can’t predict the future, all there’s left is doing my best in the present. I cannot swear I won’t ever kill again –be it on accident or out of necessity–, but I know for a fact I’ll never enjoy it or make peace with it.

“You should also remember that I was handcuffed to a chair and blindfolded, so I might have stepped on the wire on accident while struggling to get away from the fight”, I throw in just to not sound too keen on the killer being responsible for his own demise. I don’t want to _seem_ suspicious, after all. Also, part of that is true anyway. “Consider that I was in the middle of those crossbows’ aims, so I was surrounded by the wires”. I mean, if it wasn’t ‘cause my ankles were cuffed as well, I’m sure I would’ve ended with an arrow through the face. So, as long as Brett doesn’t find out I was released before the fucker died, I’m good.

“Or maybe it could have been Daredevil, accidentally as well”, I offer as well, aiming to narrow down the possibilities. If I speak what’s on his mind and shut it down, he’ll be more likely predisposed to definitely choose the asshole as the only guilty person in this whole mess. “Who knows? Not me. I just heard the shot and then saw the bleeding asshole once the blindfold was removed from my face”. It’s just a simple narrative actually. I was kidnapped and tortured; Daredevil found me and fought the killer; the dumbass got himself accidentally killed; and in the end, the vigilante released me. What’s not to believe about that?

“So, you don’t even know then?” Now he just sounds kind of pissed and annoyed, like he thinks I’m bluffing or joking. Don’t know why. The part about me being blindfolded is real, I just lied a bit about how long I was wearing that thing for. “Amazing that during said fight neither of the two men got either Daredevil or you hurt when triggering the other crossbows, don’t you think?” Ah, but he is clever, after all. Couldn’t expect less from the _detective_. Fair point, yet I still have a satisfactory answer for it. I came prepared, Brett, you can't catch me off guard so easily. As I said before, I’m **not** an idiot (or at least I’m not that _big_ of an idiot). You’ll have to dig deeper, Mahoney, if you want to get to the truth. But you won’t, ‘cause I already got this on lock.

“All I know is that it wasn’t on purpose, no matter who did it”. All I can do now is keep at it. Continue to build the farse with bits of the truth. The Devil is in the details, they say. “He obviously didn’t want to kill himself; I was in no position to even know what the hell I was doing in the middle of my terror induced panic –not to mention that at that point I had been tortured for hours after being drugged and kidnapped–”, I highlight so he doesn’t forget about my deplorable condition at the time (which hasn’t improved much either).

“And lastly, but not least, I highly doubt that Daredevil would be the culprit here; his reputation precedes him, after all”. Mahoney knows him; he has run into him multiple times. Shit, they have been basically working _together_ on this case, he has to at least believe that part. I’ll rather confess than get Daredevil’s relatively good reputation turned to dust. “He has never killed anyone before, and he has encountered a lot of heinous bastards during his ‘career’. He’s not Castle, you know?” And if he’s as much as thinking he could be, he’s plain wrong.

“As for the other crossbows, one was activated but it only flew past me since Daredevil was able to push me out of the way in time”. Which, I know that this is the least appropriate of times to be saying this but, it was kind of _hot_. His quick reflexes and his instinct to protect me, a fucking turn on. “You know how fast his reflexes can be, almost as if he has a sixth sense or something”. I really can’t resist the puns now. I’m tired and hurting, just let me have this, okay?

“And after that, there was another bow that fired when being knocked down, that one’s arrow didn’t hit anybody as far as I know”. The one that got stuck on the opposite wall... It was pure luck that one didn’t hit me either. I didn’t have Murdock to save me anymore at that point. I was on my own against that psychopath. Still, I came on top.

“Maybe you are right and it was an accident”, Brett concedes after mulling his thoughts for a while. It seems I’m finally getting to him. That’s good news, to have confirmation. “Doesn’t matter either way since my superiors are content to be able to close the investigation for once and for all”, he says with a sigh before closing the folder and turning off my phone. Wow, so I was actually right when thinking they weren’t interested in pursuing this any further. I mean, it was more of a hope than a certainty, but now I know for sure. Oh my god, I’m so fucking glad he said that. I was just about to break into a sweat if he kept questioning me about who was responsible for the killer’s death.

“Feeling’s mutual”, I reply alleviated but not letting it show. I’m sure I could pass it as just being happy about finally being able to go home, but I ain’t taking any chances. My freedom is at stake until they officially close the case for good. Also, I still should seem a bit bummed about not getting my phone back yet. You know, look like a normal young adult or whatever. But I don’t really care since I’ll probably sleep through the entirety of the time that they’ll keep the device in their possession. It’s not like I use it much anyway; for work and listening to music more than anything. Yeah, so not that much of a “normal” girl, after all.

“You are free to go, anyway. And you'll get your phone back in a couple of days, but without the recording, of course”, he says after observing someone signaling to him from outside the interrogation room window. Can’t say I’m not disappointed about the recording part, though. I would have liked to keep it as a reminder of why I did it. But I understand, it’s evidence. “Also, your lawyers are here”, he adds after checking his cell phone. Well, well, well, would you look at that? And just in time too. Gotta give it up to Nelson & Murdock for their impeccable timing. And just like I anticipated, Mahoney _does_ look irritated by their seemingly coincidental appearance. Frickin priceless.

“Are they now?” I ask without even attempting to hide my amusement with the situation. I just love those two (one more than the other, naturally). “Odd, considering I didn’t invoke my right nor made a phone call”. I mean, I did, though, kind of. It’s just that it happened when I was still at the killer’s place while talking to Daredevil. But Brett doesn’t need to know that. We’ll keep it between us, right, my friend? I really wonder if Matt told Foggy everything or just part of it. I have the feeling that he might have at least omitted the part about me killing the fucker.

Hopefully, he went with the same narrative I told him, and that he later gave Mahoney. We can’t have good ol’ Fogg ruin our carefully executed plan right at the end and after we succeeded. That would be truly unfortunate for all of us. Nevertheless, I trust the man with my life, quite literally, in this case. Besides, even if Matt hadn’t managed to sell him the story about the killer committing accidental suicide, he’ll still help to cover up what actually happened. He would probably think that Matt was actually the one behind it –not on purpose, obviously–, and so he’ll go with the farce to help his best friend keep his vigilante reputation intact.

“Yeah, well, they seem to have a radar for tracking this sort of cases”, he says with an even –if yet frustrated– tone, while getting up from his chair. But since he stopped short after the word “cases”, it makes me believe that he wanted to add something else after that. Was he about to say something demeaning? He has called them “ambulance chasers”, or implied that they were, at least once before. Still, don’t know if the implicit dig was meant just for them or for me as well. Harsh, Brett. And after I thought we were on good terms. Such a pity. “I’ll leave you to them then”, he says before walking to the door and opening it.

“Thank you, detective. Good job out there”, I tell him before he leaves, effectively stopping him in his tracks and making him turn his head and look at me over his shoulder. I mirror his action, not turning my body completely yet waiting to look him in the eye to assure him my honesty. I mean my words; I’m not just saying them with a sarcastic tone. He’s doing good work, has been ever since he was a Sergeant, at least. We are all lucky in Hell’s Kitchen to have someone like him in the force, helping to keep the citizens safe as much as he’s able to. Also, he helped Matt more than once, letting him go when he could have arrested him. I will forever be grateful and in debt with him, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Don’t thank me, kid, I’m not the one who found you”, he says with a little smile, probably feeling upset about not being able to be as good as Daredevil when stopping certain crimes. Can’t blame yourself for that, Brett, no one is as proficient as Red in what he does (well, maybe Stick, but he kills people, so I’m not sure if he counts). At the same time, he must still be glad that this nightmare is finally over; he might be grateful as much as I am, that the vigilante came to the rescue in the end. That’s the conundrum regarding the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, but it’s also the reason for his existence. He’s there to get the ones that think themselves above the law and to bring them to justice.

“No, but you still helped. And I’m sure you’ll continue to do the same”. We all have our eyes on you, Mahoney. Doesn’t matter if you catch a mere burglar or an entire mob, you always do good by your work. That’s way more to say about him than you can say about past detectives like those two assholes that worked for Fisk when he was rising to power. So, let’s hope that Brett can keep at it. We surely will do whatever we can to help him keep the Kitchen safe.

“I try my best”, he says after contemplating me for a couple of seconds. He smiles fully now and even snorts. Wonder what he finds funny all of a sudden, or maybe ironic? “Although, ‘intricate’, ‘navigate’, ‘hubris’…seriously?” He asks while raising a brow and looking at me as if I had grown a second head. Really, Brett? Out of all things you could question about this whole ordeal, you choose _that_? Okay, sure. Whatever floats your boat, man.

“What can I say? I like to read”, I answer with a dashing smile, looking nothing like I’m feeling. I just really want to go home and cuddle with Matt for three days straight. Yet I ain’t going to not humor the detective. After all, he’s saving my ass here. I know I keep repeating this, but I’m not stupid. I saw how unconvinced he was left after all I said. He doesn’t fully believe me, but he’s still glad that somehow the killer has been dealt with and that he doesn’t have to worry about him murdering anymore. He knows that he’s helping in covering up something more complicated and he’s going with it. Just like when he chose to help Daredevil. It’s good to know that Mahoney has my back as well.

* * *

Ah, welcome back, friend! It’s been a couple of days since I was released from Hell. I have been cooped up in the apartment ever since I came back from the precinct. The memories of that time are a bit blurry because the painkillers were already taking effect, but I do remember Foggy hugging me so tightly I feared he was gonna break a rib or two. Matt hasn’t left my side for long either; he has only gone out to do anything that couldn’t be put aside or pushed back, like some work for the firm or to go buy groceries.

He even did minimal patrolling and only while I was already deeply asleep. He’s being an angel, although a bit of an overbearing one. I’m healing up nicely so far, and I’m sure I’ll be back out there in no time. Mediation does really help; Murdock wasn’t kidding about that. Still, it’s been paradise here these past few days; but I’ll tell you more about it some other time.

As of now, I keep thinking that Mahoney didn’t buy my story at all. No matter how much I want to trust the detective, I keep fearing that the cops might show up at our door at any moment. I mean, at least that’s the feeling I got after the skeptical look he gave me when we first spoke about the case. Still, he said nothing about my claim and just nodded along. It was as if he knew what actually happened but didn’t care much since I stopped a serial killer that brutally murdered eight people in cold blood (after torturing and raping them). One that would continue to do so if left alone.

Nevertheless, and just to be sure, I reiterated what the fucker told me –and my phone– about his unlikely long stay in prison thanks to his good connections and blackmail material. That seemed to do the trick for Mahoney and helped him to decide to let me go without further questioning. Doesn’t mean that I’m completely off the hook, though; if I were to become The Punisher 2.0 (not that I intend to anyway), there’ll be consequences. Still, I’m glad that he’s not that willing to turn a blind eye regarding this type of situation, no matter how justified they are. Keep the good work, Brett! And to you, my dearest friend, until next time.

One last thing, though: have no doubt, I’m not over this yet. And the scars left by this entire nightmare will probably take years to heal completely, if that’s even possible, to begin with. I’ll have to deal with my pain, my fear, and my guilt sooner than later; I just hope Matt will be there by my side when I start to. As for him, I’m not sure yet, but I hope he finds it in his heart to still love me, if not to forgive me.

**Author's Note:**

> As I stated already multiple times, this is just me not wanting to part with the characters but not wanting to commit to another long fanfic as well. Also, as opposite to Daring the Devil, these short pieces are supposed to be more lighthearted and fun than their predecessor. As always, thanks for reading.


End file.
